


Never an Equal Footing

by Ciule



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Apprentice - Freeform, Arithmancy (Harry Potter), Daily Prophet, Death Eaters, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Professors, Masturbation, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Oral Sex, Past DubCon, Past Relationship(s), Post-War, Power Dynamics, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Spanking, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:09:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 112,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25911892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ciule/pseuds/Ciule
Summary: He gazed at their colleagues, saying softly to himself: "I've never felt young." Then his sharp eyes focused on her, and he grimaced. "You, Miss Granger, are obviously still very young. Didn't your parents tell you it is rude to comment on people's appearances?"-The war might be over, but the happily ever after seems to be a long time coming. As Hermione returns to Hogwarts as an apprentice one year after the war, the Ministry struggles to contain the Death Eaters running rampant throughout the country.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 532
Kudos: 840
Collections: Pensieve





	1. Bored Now

**Author's Note:**

> “Never an Equal Footing” came about because I wanted to write a very Slytherin Severus. He’s the Head of Slytherin, right? So, you know the drill: He should be ambitious, cunning, resourceful - he should be someone who wants to be in a position of power. In short, I wanted a post-war Severus who is driven.
> 
> This story has made me feel guilty for a long time. It sits unfinished on FFnet, because I lost track of it, running off to write other stories. Finally, I’ve returned, edited it, and yes, it’s finished. I’ll be posting chapters once a week.

**The Daily Prophet, 23 August 1999:**

_Ministry sources secretly confirm that 112 witches and wizards have died under mysterious circumstances since the War ended last year. The unusual high numbers are attributed by our sources to the recent Death Eater resurgence, but the official Ministry spokeswitch Marigold Lebennon says it's all speculations:_

_\- The fact that some people like to dress up in cloaks and masks to scare others, doesn't mean there have been real Death Eater sightings. Granted, the deaths are very suspicious, but our intel tells us that the Death Eaters on the loose are just a few isolated individuals. They can't possibly be behind all this, and the Auror Office says the aforementioned deaths are due to people being disturbed and mentally ill from the aftereffects of the war, the spokeswitch claims with conviction._

* * *

He was bored out of his mind. _Eighteen long years of staff meetings were simply eighteen years too many._ _Blah, blah_ , the curriculum changing, _blah, blah_ , encourage the students to do their best, _blah, blah_ , the importance of all staff to enforce rules along the same guidelines… _He just couldn't care less._

Severus had always thought that he wanted peace and quiet, an uneventful life, but he had been wrong. _Oh, so very wrong._ He'd never dreamed that he'd miss the adrenaline rush of threats to his life and the thrill of deceiving a very accomplished Legilimens, but he did. He even missed being Headmaster, for all the horrors and tedious details his tenure had entailed. Something _had_ to happen, or he'd go stir-crazy. _Cauldron-potty_. **_Batwing-mad_**.

Hiding behind the strands of his black hair, he wondered if Minerva would spot him napping. _Probably_ , he decided, and forced his eyes to stay open, groaning quietly to himself. 

The Head's office was much too hot in the August heat, and he wondered why the castle would be so petty as to deny Minerva the use of its perfect Cooling Charm. _Behave!_ he snapped silently at the castle, and he felt it grudgingly give in, and a bit of fresh air entered the room. Minerva gave him a quick, grateful look. _He rather thought the castle might be right in its displeasure, because who would ever think that those tartan curtains would fit the Head's office?_

Goraning, he noted that the newest addition to staff, Septima's apprentice, had obviously not gotten over her incessant need to ask questions. There she was, Hermione Granger, her hands waving eagerly in the air, wild hair bristling in a ponytail, and those big brown, innocent eyes bright and shining. _Just like when she pestered him in class, still virtually bouncing on her chair_. The rest of the staff even _smiled_ at her, indulgently, like the teacher's pet she still was. He sighed deeply, sinking back into his chair, while drumming his fingers impatiently on the table. Thank the gods for small mercies, at least the chairs were still plain wood, not … stuffed and tartan.

"Please, Headmistress," the girl said, "you said for all of us to follow the same guidelines for discipline. Can you explain that in a little more detail? I'm not sure how this should work, as I experienced quite different approaches from the staff in my years as a student."

He snorted softly to himself, thinking of Dumbledore's mad indulgence with the rule-breaking Golden Trio, but the meeting went downhill from there. It was supposed to last an hour, but ended up close to two hours, thanks to Miss Granger and her questions. Thank Merlin, when the students arrived in a week, prolonging a staff meeting like that would be impossible, but still…

He decided to stop her from blathering in future staff meetings. _Maybe even Miss Granger could see reason._

On his way out, he stalked after the chit down the rotating stairs, making sure to walk almost on her heels. 

Grinning a little to himself, he noticed her increasing her speed. _She was nervous, that's what she was._ It made him feel good in a petty way, that he'd still have that kind of effect on her, no matter her fame and achievements.

As he cornered her in the hallway, she stopped short, her hand uncertainly clenching and unclenching around her wand. Deliberately, he stepped much too close to her, using his height to intimidate her by looming over her. She was still on the small side, he noted, barely reaching his shoulder, and his proximity forced her to crane her neck to look up at him.

He arched a lazy eyebrow at her. "About to hex someone, Miss Granger? If I must remind you, it would be bad form to hex a fellow staff member in the corridors. Setting a bad example for the students, you see."

She reddened, looking away from him. _Oh yes, the little Gryffindor would be embarrassed by him calling her out for being afraid. Lovely._ But she gathered her courage, and said politely: "Professor Snape, how may I help you?"

"You can and you will help me and the rest of the staff," he said bluntly, eyes locked on her face. _She had become pretty,_ he noted, _somehow along the way she had grown into her face_ , _and her eyes had a very pleasant colour, just Ogden’s Firewhisky._ "Do not ask questions at the next staff meeting. No one feels _any_ need to prolong those meetings, but you, with your questioning…"

"Oh," she said blushing. "Everything is so new and exciting. I just got carried away."

"I'm sure you'll find most of the staff in possession of our wits, so we _might_ have noticed," he said dryly. 

She was fiddling with her robes, still not looking at him. From his vantage point of looking down at her, he realized he could see her cleavage. _It looked like she had nice, firm tits, just big enough to be a handful for him…_

Shaking himself, he realized that he had just _ogled_ little Miss Granger, of all people. Shocked and appalled at his own behaviour, he shuddered, but his cock twitched slightly, stretching in his pants. _Gods, she was barely older than the students, and she was the insufferable_ **_Granger_** _, for Merlin's sake!_

Stepping back hastily, he gave her his best sneer. "Make sure to rein yourself in at the next staff meeting, Miss Granger," he said as he swept past her.

Xxxx

"I'm so happy you came to your senses," Professor Vector told her with a pleased smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Her white hair was gathered in a loose bun, but wisps of hair kept escaping into her face. The small, spry witch was pouring her a cup of tea in her office, the smell of the Darjeeling First Flush wafting up to her nose as the tea splashed into a wide, dainty porcelain cup. "I always thought you were cut out for an Arithmancer, and I was sorely disappointed when you applied for the Ministry last year." Giving Hermione the teacup with her age-spotted hand, she leaned back into her chair with a sigh. 

Hermione gave her a smile in return. "Yet, here I am. The Ministry wasn't _quite_ what I expected, and I wanted to learn more. I'm so thankful that you accepted me as your Apprentice." The armchair was comfortable, and Professor Vector's study was light and airy, high up in the western tower. The afternoon sun lit up the room, making it bright, warm and welcoming.

"Oh, I'd be a fool not to," Professor Vector scoffed. "But please, do call me Septima. You're part of the staff now, so let's dispense with the formalities."

Hermione beamed at her, and sipped her tea. _The Ministry had been exceedingly boring: Full of stuffy, self-important little prats, with intrigues and power plays in every corner, people scrambling for influence and promotions. She had started out as a clerk in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures right after she had finished her NEWTs, as she had not taken the offer of an honorary degree from Hogwarts, but actually sat her exams in August, only a few months after the war. Now, after one year in the service of the Ministry, she was back at Hogwarts as an apprentice. And, she felt like she had come home._

"As you know," Septima said, "the requirements for your studying will be varied. You will, of course, spend most of your time studying theory, but there will also be practical applications of your calculations, as well as your project for your master thesis. You will also undergo training as a teacher. Here, at Hogwarts, we feel that you should get a more varied experience in teaching, as there are so few students in my Arithmancy classes. Therefore, you'll be required to undergo practical training in teaching all subjects at Hogwarts."

Hermione blanched. "You mean that _all_ teachers will supervise my practical training?"

"Yes, close to everyone," Septima said calmly. "Don't worry, Hermione, they're all excited that you're here, and you'll feel like part of the staff in no time. You can expect to be on a first name basis with everyone within a week."

"Even Professor Snape?" Hermione asked sceptically. _It was hard enough to contemplate calling the Headmistress just ‘Minerva’, but it was nigh impossible to think about Snape as ‘Severus’._ She shivered, remembering the way he had _glared_ at her in the corridor, towering over her as six feet of intimidating, dark menace.

Septima laughed, eyes glittering, as she said: "Maybe not Severus."

Xxxx

Sighing contentedly, Hermione looked around her private quarters. She had a bedroom with the standard Hogwarts four-poster bed and a dresser, and the bathroom had a surprisingly big shower. The sitting room was on the small side, though. The sofa was rather worn, and there was only room for a stuffed wing chair and a small table aside. In a corner, there was a large fireplace making Floo travel as comfortable as it could be. She was happy that, whoever it was – be it the Headmistress, House-elves or someone else – had thoughtfully given her rooms a Gryffindor colour scheme. The bed hangings were red with gold tassels, as were the rug in front of the fireplace and the curtains in front of the large window in the sitting room. _It made her feel even more as if she had returned home._

In her opinion, the best feature of the set of rooms was the deep bookshelves ranging from floor to roof. Even her book collection wasn't filling up more than half of the space, but she smiled to herself: _That_ would only be temporary. 

Hermione felt a tingling joy by the thought of buying, reading and caring for so many more books in the years to come. Her wish list comprised over 300 books already, and she had calculated that her rather meager Apprentice payment would suffice for buying approximately ten books a month, if she saved a little for future needs in her Gringotts account plus cut down on clothes and chocolate. _Yes, those bookshelves would be filled by the time she had finished her Mastery._

Xxxx

Like Septima said, during the next few days the rest of the staff invited her to call them by their first names. McGonagall was now Minerva, Flitwick was Filius, Sprout became Pomona and Hooch Rolanda. Snape was still Professor Snape, though, but Hermione had never expected _that_ to change.

She had, of course, already a good start on her reading, with materials both from Septima's suggestions and her own meticulously researched reading list. But her most important task in those first days was a visit to Hagrid. 

His hut had burned down during the war, but he had rebuilt it, larger and more comfortable than before. He had added a bedroom, a spacious bathroom and a separate kitchen, and Hagrid was obviously proud as he showed her around. When they had settled in front of the fire in his kitchen, Hermione working on perfecting her trick of slowly Vanishing his rock cakes bit by bit, like she was actually chewing the damned things, he said: "It's unbelievable, isn't it, tha' yeh've grown to be a Hogwarts apprentice, yeh're practically a teacher yerself!"

She grinned at him, saying with all the pride she felt in her heart: "I know! I can't believe it myself. And I’m so looking forward to being here for the next five years."

Hagrid almost teared up by that, sniffling into his great, checkered handkerchief: "I'm so proud of yeh, Hermione!" Lowering his voice, he said with a serious expression: "Watch over yerself, will yeh? There are people up there," he nodded towards the castle, "who doesn' know righ' from wrong, or, they don' care. Take care, and don' let 'em pull yer into any games."

She nodded, eyes serious, but wondering what on earth Hagrid was referring to.

Xxxx

It was strange, eating in the Great Hall without the students. Dust motes danced in the rays of the morning sun, and all sounds were magnified, almost echoing in the emptiness and the quiet of the large hall. It was breakfast on 30 August, and in two days, the students would fill the halls, classrooms and corridors once more.

Inside Hogwarts, Hermione felt curiously safe, more so than she had since the war ended. Back then, everyone had been so deliriously happy, optimistic and believing that finally, everything would be set right. _Of course, that hadn’t proved to be the case_ . Now, fear of the rather large group of violent, raging Death Eaters hell bent on revenging their Lord was looming large in the public. Brutal, violent attacks on Muggles, Muggleborns and those who had openly defied Voldemort had happened almost as often as during the war. There were a lot of people with harrowing experiences in the year or so after Voldemort's fall, that is, those who survived the violence and torture, the fear and the humiliations they had been put through. _And the Ministry wasn’t acknowledging the threat at all._

After the post owl had dropped off the Prophet, she grimaced, seeing the front page. _Another vicious attack, eradicating a wizarding farm growing potion ingredients. Three farmhands and a family of four dead._ Every day, there were news or follow-up stories on the seemingly non-stop flood of tragedies, and even more stories harried the new Minister of Magic Saul Croaker, people pushing for more decisive measures from the Ministry. In these articles, Croaker was shadowed as always by an increasingly frustrated Kingsley Shacklebolt, now Head of the Auror Office after his short stint as interim Minister.

Croaker had been an Unspeakable, and shortly before the election, he had revealed himself as the Head of the Department of Mysteries. Whatever the Ministry did to stop the terror, it wasn't enough by far, and Shacklebolt was obviously not happy with the current regime. Hermione had heard rumours in the Ministry saying Kingsley was angry to have lost the election, wanting to run for Minister again as soon as the opportunity arose. _No wonder,_ she thought, _considering the mess Croaker had made of everything. Kingsley would have been a far better choice in her opinion. He was very competent, and a good man at heart._

"Hermione, tonight is a very important night," the Headmistress told her. She pulled her eyes away from the grim headlines, and saw that Minerva's eyes were twinkling. The Headmistress was clearly trying to hide a grin.

"And why is that?" she replied, smiling politely back.

"It's the annual staff party, to drown our sorrows and celebrate the loss of our freedom for the next year," Minerva said, chuckling. "You'll do well not to plan too much for tomorrow, as the party usually is quite… rowdy."

Hermione felt her eyebrows climb. _So, the teachers were drinking and partying hard before the students arrived? Well, she'd never expected that! Her plan for the night had been some quiet reading time in the library, but obviously, she couldn't refuse this. After all, they were to be her colleagues, and she needed to get to know the rest of the staff better - like adults on an equal footing, not like her superiors._

Xxxx

"Have a Fireshischy, Herimino!" Flitwick shouted, as she entered the staff room. The small Charms professor was staggering towards her, brandishing a goblet, slopping the smoking liquid on the floor. 

Hermione had taken care to magically iron her blue, modestly cut dress robes and taming her hair, but taking a look around, she saw that the effort had been completely wasted. The teachers were all casually dressed, some already looking a little inebriated, but nothing like Filius Flitwick. Hermione supposed it was due to his diminutive size, but still...

"Over here, Hermione!" Septima called out. Her Mistress was slouching on a sofa, chatting with Hooch, Sprout, Sinistra and Trelawney.

The normally cosy staff room, with its grey sofas, deep leather chairs, small tables and the ever-present teakettle, was transformed into a nightclub. Gone were the chairs, the sofas were moved along the walls, making a dance floor in the middle, and in the grand fireplace the multi-coloured fire was pumping and twisting in time with the fairly loud music, making the room flash with alternating red, blue, green, purple and yellow lights. The small kitchenette was Transfigured into a bar, with three House-elves serving as barkeepers, sharply dressed in black silk handkerchiefs, embroidered with the Hogwarts crest.

The Headmistress was standing in front of the fireplace, strands of hair escaping her normally severe bun, wildly gesticulating in an animated discussion with Snape and Hagrid. Her giant friend waved her a greeting, but frowned intently at Minerva, drumming his fingers at his large goblet, obviously not agreeing with the Headmistress. As Hermione crossed the floor, Snape shot her a long look, before he turned back to Minerva, shaking his head as well.

Flitwick was now dancing slowly by himself in the middle of the floor, while the new Transfiguration teacher, Marius Gewerryn was entrenched by Ancient Runes Professor Batsheda Babbling in the darkest corner of the dancefloor, the witch swaying softly to the music. Junior Defense and Potion teachers Francis Heron and Cato Byror were loitering at the bar, chatting quietly as they watched their colleagues.

Trying not to gawk, Hermione hurried to Septima, sitting down on the sofa.

"Oi, Winky! Bring Hermione prosecco!" her mistress shouted over the din.

The House-elf scurried over to her quickly, giving her a glass with sparkling, light golden wine, bobbing slightly at Hermione.

 _Clink!_ Septima leaned forward, clinking her glass with Hermione, and said a little slurredly: " _Now_ you are staff, Hermione. This – _this_ , is the initiation feast."

Trelawney and Hooch giggled, challenging her to a "Bottoms up!"

Hermione downed the wine, feeling slightly woozy, and to her astonishment, her glass was again filled up to the brim.

"I hear your fan mail is a bit troubling," Pomona Sprout said with a mischievous smile.

Hermione felt herself blush, and said: "I hope it doesn't make too much of a bother."

"No, no," Septima said, "the House-elves are quite well-versed in things like that. After all, they've dealt with Severus' mail for a year now."

"Does he get the same as me?" Hermione said, dumbfounded.

"I should hope not!" Sybil Trelawney hooted with laughter, her large glasses askew. "My dear girl, Severus gets at least five death threats a week, ten proposals and offers for sex, fifteen heartbreaking letters from families missing their loved ones, asking for any information he might have, and twenty Howlers varying in content from all of the above."

Hermione blinked. The death threats she could understand, and the family letters too, but who in their right mind wrote to Severus Snape offering sex? _Those people had to have a death wish._

"Luckily my mail isn't that bad," she said. "Mostly it's normal fan mail, with the odd proposals and death threats mingled in. And at the most, I think I get twenty letters a week or so." Not being able to help herself, she lowered her voice: "Are people really proposing Snape?"

Aurora Sinistra sniggered, downing her glass again – motioning for Hermione to drink up as well. "You'd be surprised. He became quite popular overnight, and in the beginning, he really took advantage of it too."

Hermione felt her eyebrows climb up into her hair, and the older witches snorted with laughter at her expression. She tried to cover her confusion by draining her glass again, but it refilled promptly.

"Really," Rolanda Hooch said, yellow eyes twinkling at her, "You look like you fell down from a tree. The staff _are_ people too. That means, we laugh, quarrel, gossip and fuck. Just wait, you'll see." Looking at the other professors, she winked. "But Severus, he really went to town when he got the chance, didn't he?"

"Yes, yes," the other witches nodded, grinning widely at her. Hermione felt herself blush. _These people had been her teachers. Their sex life was not something she was comfortable thinking about. And Snape shagging lots of witches – it was more than unbelievable, and frankly a very disturbing image._

Hooch continued: "For the first few months after the war, he had a new witch - or more – every weekend. But then he obviously got tired of it sometime during the autumn." Squinting a little angrily towards Snape, she said: "And I lost my bet with Minerva. I put fifty Galleons on him becoming a player for real, and she was adamant he'd quit before Christmas." Hooch stuck her tongue out at Snape, and in that exact moment, he turned around, looking at them.

The silence was stuffy, short and unbearable, before the older witches burst out in raucous laughter. Blanching, Hermione saw Snape stiffen, turning around to Minerva again, but quite obviously uncomfortable with the barrage of drunken laughter directed at him.

"But you, Hermione, weren’t you supposed to marry the youngest Weasley?" Aurora Sinistra asked her with a shrewd look.

"Errr, well, it didn't work out," she mumbled. 

_The story of her and Ron was still painful. At first, everything had been fine, and then everyday life and the quarrels started. What to do with their lives, how many children and when, why they should or shouldn’t live next door to his mother, why Hermione really had to spend so much of her time working, who would start the cleaning spells in the afternoon and get dinner ready – and then after the fiftieth angry row, he had used his status as a war hero to get laid. Often, publicly and with model witches._

_Of course, by the time, it had all been over in everything but the name. Still, it hurt a lot. It wasn't like she had model wizards lining up at her door. Why Ron would be so popular was beyond her, and she felt stupid, unattractive, and outed for all of Wizarding Britain like the relationship loser she really was. Now, she had no other friends than Harry, Luna and Neville. Even Harry and her were drifting apart, because every single Weasley gave her the cold shoulder after her breakup with Ron, which made meeting Harry without Ginny infrequent. During winter and spring, work had been all she had, but no one at the Ministry was even remotely interested in her, exempting her work performance and the reports she made._

_So, she clung to what gave her value to the world: Her brilliant mind, her knowledge and her willingness to fight for a cause, but alone, at night, her life had felt empty, devoid of human relationships. Her flat in London had felt almost like a mausoleum, not like a home._

Hermione swallowed, forcing down the now familiar feeling of _failure_ and deep loneliness _._ Instead she gave her former Professors a brittle smile, but still, they peered curiously at her. _She hadn’t fooled them at all._

"Really?" Trelawney said, looking interested. "We all thought the two of you were a sure thing. Remind me to do you a reading, Hermione, we'll see what the future has in store for you."

"No thanks," she replied quickly, "I like my surprises, even when they're kind of bad." She got up, a little unsteadily, walking to the bar to get a pint, instead of the bubbly, too sweet prosecco the elder witches seemed to prefer.

The two Junior Professors Heron and Byror eyed her with interest as she asked the House-elf Tommen to draw her a porter. Looking at them, she gave them a small smile, and soon they had dragged her into a conversation. The two of them were teaching classes first through fourth years in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions, while Snape did OWL and NEWT classes in both subjects.

"I'm excited about the new term," Cato Byror told her, "as I have all my lesson plans tested and evaluated. That bastard," he shot a hard glance at Snape, who was still listening to Hagrid and Minerva quarreling, "wasn't willing to share any of his, last year. It takes time to find out what will work, but now I think I've got it down pat."

"He wasn't willing to share with me, either," said Francis Heron darkly. "But luckily, there have been so many Defense teachers over the years, so I had loads of earlier class planning from other teachers to reference. This will be my second year at Hogwarts, by the way."

The two men were handsome, in a rugged way, Byror blonde, and Heron dark haired. Quickly, she realized that both of them were trying to impress her. Gloomily, she thought: _It must be because I'm the only female on the staff below the age of fifty._

They told her about their past work, their families, their academic successes, and she nodded politely and smiled automatically, concentrating mostly on drinking her pint, while the two of them were slowly crowding in on her, trapping her against the bar.

"You're so young, Hermione, and so _talented_ , with all that lovely vivaciousness of youth," Francis Heron purred, his chocolate brown eyes moving suggestively down her body. "It almost makes _me_ feel mature, experienced and seasoned. You know, I'd love to give you some advice, if you feel like it. Not many are made a Hogwarts professor at the age of 44. I can give you a few, helpful tips."

"Absolutely," his colleague whispered into her ear. "Your beauty and brain makes for quite the … heady… combination. You will go far, and by the time you've reached _my_ age, at 49, you'll be so accomplished, so well-versed. I would only be happy to show you a little more of the world to get you started." His dirty-blonde hair fell into his eyes, and those baby blue eyes were consuming her face with a rather frightful intensity.

Hermione almost rolled her eyes, because she wasn't about to be tackled by the two of them. _After all, she had faced much more challenging situations than this. To be chatted up by two of her colleagues, both old enough to be her father, was simply preposterous. Hermione knew she would have no problem turning them down, but she also wanted to keep a civil working relationship with them. In all probability, she'd see these two wizards every day for the next five years. Being who she was, she wanted to be liked, accepted and respected among her colleagues, and that translated into turning these wizards down in a polite way._

She finished her pint, licking the foam from her lips, and giggled inwardly at their vacuous expression as their eyes locked on her lips. But really, did they think that _she'd_ be impressed by their experience? The Defense teacher Heron had been abroad in Paris during the war, while Byror had sat it all out comfortably on his manor, pretending to be growing Potion ingredients. _They_ hadn't been in the Order, _they_ hadn't made an effort to overcome Voldemort, _they_ hadn't been fighting, like she had, like Minerva, like Snape...

Fighting an incredulous grin at the obvious, but very sick and twisted solution to the problem they posed, she deliberately gave her two colleagues a wide-eyed, innocent look as she slipped past them.

"Why, thank you! I'm sure it will be lovely to get to know you," she said. "I need to speak to Professor Snape. Isn't it wonderful to have such a respected war hero among the staff? I admire him _so_ much."

Seeing their flabbergasted expression, she almost gave herself away by laughing out loud. Fighting her laugh, she went over to Minerva and the said professor. _War hero, my arse! Those two idiots didn't stop to think that she was one too, actually one of the most awarded war heroes in magical Britain._

"Hello," she said a little nervously, interrupting the Headmistress and Hogwarts' most feared professor. Minerva was dressed in crumpled, maroon robes, her hat slightly askew on her head, holding a nondescript bottle of Firewhisky in her hand. Snape stood tall and straight, as usual crisply buttoned up in his black frock coat, but had obviously forgone his teaching robes for the occasion. He gave her a long stare, and she almost froze – _gods, what if he finds out what I told those two idiots? He'll kill me!_

"There you are, Hermione!" Minerva beamed. "Try my Firewhisky. My brother made this, and I think it's excellent. Severus maintains that Ogden's better, but I don't think a mass-produced brew can compete with a true, home-brewed, quality whisky."

Obediently, she tasted the whisky, taking a big gulp, immediately coughing violently. _It was vile, tasting like what she imagined petrol would be like if she ever was stupid enough to drink it._ She shivered, not being able to cover up her involuntary shudder of disgust.

Snape was crossing his arms over his broad chest, and he smiled faintly, triumphantly, at her predicament. "It tastes like Madam Majory's window cleaning potion," he stated with determination. "Minerva, this is my final word. Your brother can't seriously entertain the notion of brewing this whisky for sale. You can foist it on anyone, and they'll tell you it is horrible. Even Hagrid couldn't stomach it, and he told you so in no uncertain terms."

The Headmistress huffed, and stalked up to another group, holding out her bottle to Babbling and Gewerryn, interrupting their dance, and forcing them to take a sip. Hermione made a pleading look at Tommen the House-elf, and he immediately came running with another pint of porter.

"Acquired a taste for darkness, Miss Granger?" Snape asked, nodding at her choice of drink, black eyes glinting wickedly.

"In terms of beer, yes," she said, taking a sip of her dark, delicious porter, foam thick and almost creamy. Tommen sure knew how to draw a proper porter. _Sweet Morgana, to make this believable to Heron and Byror, I have to keep up a conversation with Snape. Why did Minerva have to leave? This would have been so much easier if she stuck around._ Helplessly, she peered at him over her pint.

"Well, Miss Granger, what brings you over here? I don't imagine it's the lure of my friendly conversation." His voice was still the same silken, deep and measured cadence as before, and she still felt those shivers of something akin to fear as he spoke, just like it had been in his classroom.

"I had to get rid of Heron and Byror," she mumbled, opting for the truth, worried that he'd spot a lie. He had always seemed like he had a sixth sense for detecting lies and omissions during her time at Hogwarts, and she supposed that was one of the traits that made him into such a fearsome teacher. "They seem to think I'll be suitably impressed by their careers. Also, because they believe themselves to be Merlin's gift to womanhood."

Professor Snape came close to choking on his drink. Sputtering a little, he replied: "I see. You don't agree, I suppose, since you are here?"

"Obviously not," she said testily, staring at them. "I don't want to estrange myself from my colleagues during the first week, but that … _bragging_ … when all they did was to wait out the war from their own sofas, while people were running, starving, fighting and hurting."

He gave her an odd look, before he formally said: "I remember you doing all those things, Miss Granger."

She huffed. "And so did you, too, but I don't see you telling witches how grateful they should be when you share your immense, fantastic knowledge that made you into a Hogwarts teacher at the age of 44."

Snape arched an eyebrow, and for a moment, she could almost swear his mouth twitched. "That would be rather silly of me," he drawled, "as I'm thirty-nine, and I have taught here since 1981."

Blinking, she said: "But you're a Potions Master? How did you finish your degree so quickly?" She could feel envy churning inside – _she wanted to be brilliant, a fast learner, the best – but to finish a five year Mastery in what had to be two or three years? It would be almost impossible._

He shrugged. "An impatient Dark Lord can be quite the motivation for working hard. He expected me to finish early. After all, he paid for my degree."

"Oh," she said a little stupidly, "I had no idea." Dipping deep into her pint, she noticed she started to feel dizzy. _How much had she been drinking? Here she was, having an actual conversation with Professor Snape. Who would have thought the man was able to talk almost like a normal person?_ Taking another sip, she stared a little surprised at her glass. Hadn't she just ordered a new pint? _This one was almost empty_.

Giving Snape a good once-over, she realized he wasn't that old. Logically, she had known his age, but somehow in her mind, his age had seemed so much more advanced when he was her teacher. His hair was still lanky, but without any grey, his skin still sallow and his face lined, but his body seemed to be in a good shape, straight and muscular. Then she continued impulsively: "Somehow, I always thought you were older. But you're still the youngest professor at Hogwarts, then. It's surprising, you always seemed so much older than your actual age." _Odd, she'd be the youngest member of the staff, and the next in line was her snarky, mean-spirited ex-teacher._

He gazed at Heron and Byror, saying softly to himself: "I've never felt young." Then his sharp eyes focused on her, and he grimaced. "But you, Miss Granger, are obviously still very young. Didn't your parents tell you it is rude to comment on people's appearances?"

She reddened. "I didn't mean it like that, I just…"

"Whatever you intended, Miss Granger, by now you should be able to consider _how_ your opinions might be understood. And most definitely, you should be able to curb your need for expressing anything that's on your mind, however insignificant and trite your observations are." And by that, he swept off.

Xxxx

 _Merlin! As if the staff parties weren't awful enough to begin with, now he had that little Gryffindor chit to contend with! And she had taken special care to tell him he looked old._ Staring at himself in his bathroom mirror, he had to concede the chit was right. His face was lined, there was a deep furrow between his eyes, no doubt self-imposed by his habit of scowling, his hair was getting thinner, and it was _still_ greasy. _She was right._ _He did look old, not to mention the scars on his back and neck._

Sighing heavily to himself, he Divested his clothing and stepped into the shower. As usual, it took too much time for the hot water to run through the milelong pipes of Hogwarts, and he growled his displeasure at the castle, ordering it to speed up the process. _In fact, it could do better than that,_ he thought, and barked an order for the castle to always have hot water ready whenever he turned on the taps, never mind what such a thing would do to the hot water in other people's bathrooms.

As the hot water gushed forth, the castle eager to please him as always, he lathered himself with soap. His cock hardened by his touch, and for a moment, he wished he was still in denial of the motivations of his female fans. 

About one half of them wanted to be fucked brutally by a former Death Eater, toeing the line of dangerous evil. The other half thought he was a romantic, tender-hearted hero, and those witches wanted to show him love, saving him from a loveless life. _It was sad, pitiable and disgusting, and after he understood how they perceived him, he wanted none of it._ It would be much better to visit the brothels of Knockturn Alley. There, he at least knew there would be no questions of being anyone but himself. _Not some fucked-up idol for silly witches._ But it was too late to do so tonight.

Muttering angrily, he grasped his cock in his right hand, stroking it firmly, squeezing the head on each stroke. Oddly enough, he envisioned Granger. In his mind, he pushed her into the wall of a corridor, wrenching her robes open, fondling those decent-sized tits he had spotted a few days earlier. _Granger had indeed grown up, she was all woman now, and her sweet face was…_

 _No!_ _That was wrong, on so many levels._ He wrenched his mind off her, going back to his favorite memory, at that one time in the past when they were fifteen, when Lily and he had broken open his father's liquor cabinet, and the evening had ended gloriously in his bed, where Lily had given him head…

But unbidden, Granger popped up in his head again. _She would be on her knees before him, biting her bottom lip before she wet her lips with her tongue, taking him into her mouth, licking, sucking at him… Her robes would be unbuttoned, her luscious tits bare to the cold air in the dungeon, with goosebumps raising her skin and hardening her nipples._

Groaning, he quickened his pace with his hand, imagining her mouth work greedily on him, while she moaned his name. _He would put his fist into that ridiculous amount of light brown hair, pushing her head onto his cock._ Feeling his balls tighten, fire building in his cock, he spasmed. With a deep grunt, he shot his load, hips thrusting frantic in the air, his semen splashing at the wall in the shower, and then he slid down, sitting on the slate floor, letting the hot water pound over his head, remorse and anger building up inside him for doing something as stupid as letting himself fantasize about Hermione _fucking_ Granger. His fantasies were either Lily, or they were faceless. _Definitely_ **_not_** _little Miss Granger_!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hagrid's speech is difficult to write. I've tried to be faithful to the amazing analysis found on Furiosity's livejournal, but any mistakes are my own.


	2. Targeted Approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione shivered, goosebumps again riddling her flesh in the cold dungeon. She could only suspect what the Death Eaters did to captured witches. But this man - he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading the story! <3

**_The Daily Prophet, 31 August:_ **

_– A true Death Eater regrouping is the silliest suggestion so far this year, Minister spokeswitch Marigold Lebennon says. – The Auror Office outright denies any such supposedly Death Eater threats to the public._

* * *

From the moment she woke up, she felt hungover and mortified. Her mouth was parched, like there wasn’t enough water in the world to sate her thirst, and her head was pounding. With a groan, she wrenched herself up, clutching her aching skull. In her chest, her heart was hammering like she had been running, just by the simple movement of sitting up. 

_Why, oh why had she drunk so much? Wasn’t she old enough by now to stop herself from getting plastered? Sweet Merlin, she had even insulted Snape by telling him he looked old at the staff party. How in the blazes had she managed to do that? Antagonizing Snape was possibly one of the most stupid things she could do, because history had proven he could hold a grudge like no one else._

Scrubbing her face with her hands, she sighed deeply. Weakly, she tried to wandlessly Summon a Hangover potion from the bathroom, but realized she would have to move over to the bed stand to get hold of her wand. Almost whimpering with frustration, nausea roiling, she laid down again, trying to inch towards the edge of the bed, trying to convince her body she wasn’t really moving. Her body, however, wasn’t fooled, and she had to close her eyes as the bed started to spin, clutching her bedspread, waiting for the room to stay still again. 

_Good Lord, about Snape… He might still be a surly git, but she was determined to show him that she was nothing but friendly inclined. She'd be damned if she alienated her colleagues at the first staff party, because she wanted_ ** _everyone_** _to like her._ _Though in Snape's case, she'd settle for something that wasn't outright dislike._

Though, all remorse and anxiety fled, when her body decided she had to make a run for it to the bathroom. 

Xxxx

Feeling very much refreshed after a shower and three large doses of Hogwarts’ excellent Hangover Potion, she sat down beside Professor Snape at breakfast, trying to drag him into a conversation.

She tried to talk about the unusual warm weather affecting the growth of potion ingredients, before turning to the sudden dearth of moonstone, attributed to a major Chinese project on Love Potions rumoured to fight the lack of witches born to the Magical Republic of China. 

Snape barely recognized her being there, his answers monosyllabic, black eyes fixed on his plate. He looked rather tired, she thought, but it was difficult to tell from his usual grumpiness. 

Trying to keep up the one-sided conversation was hard, and it was a relief when the owls fluttered in. And there, on the front page of her copy of the Daily Prophet, there was a story on the increasing risk of an Azkaban break-out, due to Death Eaters still on the run.

"Is this likely?" she asked, tapping a finger on his newspaper, pleased to finally have a real question to ask him. _Something he would know more about than anyone else, something that would force him to talk to her. Something_ **_she_ ** _needed to know more about, something she badly needed._

Sniffing discreetly as she leaned closer, she thought he smelled rather nice. _But how did he manage to shower without washing his hair?_ It was lanky as always, hanging down to obscure his face.

Professor Snape squinted at the paper, and grunted something unintelligible. 

"Well," she repeated, "is this likely to happen?"

He looked up to the enchanted ceiling with the expression of a tortured saint, before he sighed heavily. "Miss Granger, you never give up, do you? Yes, of course it's bloody likely."

"Why is that, sir? I'm curious, why are they so difficult to catch? And why would anyone think the Death Eaters could break Azkaban's wards?"

He pressed his fingertips to the bridge of his nose, right between his eyes, the fingers making an indent in the skin, before turning to her, saying caustically: "Miss Granger, I'm not a morning person. I would like to ask you to respect that, if you can find time for some consideration of other people in your busy, little mind. I don't want conversations at breakfast, I want my tea, my toast, my newspaper and _quiet_."

Stung, she stared at him as he turned away from her, and then she blurted out: "I'd like to discuss this with you, sir. I'll try again at lunch, hoping to see you in a better mood."

Quickly, he spun around to look at her, his face incredulous. "No, Miss Granger." His voice was icy.

"Dinner then," she challenged, feeling irked by his rudeness.

"No, Miss Granger! This is not up for discussion. I'll take my meals undisturbed."

"We'll set up an appointment, then." Her eyes were now slits – _damn if she wouldn't win this one. She’d make him talk to her!_ "Will four o'clock be amenable to you? In your office?"

Xxxx

She was staring at him, expecting an answer. He became lost, looking at her mouth, that beautiful pout, those soft, kissable, fuckable lips. He felt blood rush to his groin as he thought about his fantasy from last night, and without thinking, his own mouth said without leave from his brain: "Yes, Miss Granger."

_What? Did he really accept that?_ Fantasizing about Granger must have turned his brains to mush. _He most certainly had no wish to talk to the arrogant little chit!_

Scowling, he groused at her: "Don't be late. And please, for once, do be concise when you ask your questions. You may not be my student anymore, but I won't tolerate your usual ramblings."

She looked insulted, but nodded curtly. "Very well, sir, I'll see you at four o'clock."

Sighing, Severus lifted his teacup, taking a big gulp of his strong, hot Earl Grey. To his left, Minerva was coughing quietly, her hand covering her mouth. _Hang on… She wasn't coughing!_ He risked another glance at the Headmistress, and there she was, laughing silently, shoulders shaking, as she looked insolently at him, wiggling her eyebrows. He snorted, giving her his coldest glare, but Minerva only laughed harder. Sourly, he silently told the castle to turn on the Heating Charm full tilt for the Head's quarters, starting at midnight sharp.

Xxxx

Hermione took care to be on time, punctual as usual. Snape slammed the door open, in his usual threatening fashion, black eyes glowering down at her. She couldn't help feel intimidated, even though she rather thought she shouldn't. After all, she was a grown witch, a war hero, not a quavering student. She should be able to handle Severus Snape. _Still, he was Severus Snape. What did she expect? He’d never see past her being his student, and she … well, it would take some work for her to really believe she was his peer._

The dungeon was dark and freezing, even though it was a very warm summer day outside. She rubbed her arms, regretting her sleeveless top. His office was as always dark and forbidding, with disgusting specimens crammed into jars, many glowing with eerily, sinister lights from within. Today, however, all the murky phials and bottles plus the jars and boxes were spread out on a large table in the middle of the room.

"Enter, Miss Granger," he said in a silky rumble, beckoning her inside. "You will forgive me if I go through my stores while you talk. There's precious little time before the students once again are on my doorstep, ready to raid, mess up, and _steal_ from my stores, or what say you, Miss Granger?"

Her eyes flitted, and an uncomfortable feeling settled in her stomach. _He wasn't about to bring up her stealing from his stores, was he? She thought that was long forgotten._

"You're right, Professor," she said too brightly, still set on being friendly. "Please do what you need to do, and if I can help, I'll be happy too."

He shot her an irritated look, and his lips thinned. "Very well. You can organize the shelves, starting with A to G on the top shelves, while I register and mark the rest," he almost huffed.

She almost smiled. _Thank Morgana, Professor Snape didn't know that organizing things was something she really enjoyed, or else he’d probably refuse her offer._

Happily, she helped him to sort the ingredients, stretching up to reach the upper shelves to place the phials, jars and bottles in an alphabetical order. Out of the corner of her eye, she almost thought he was watching her. _Why would he do that?_ It was almost like he was furtively ogling her chest and her arse. A small shiver ran down her spine, and goosebumps broke out on her arms. For him to pay _that_ kind of attention to her, felt… Hermione swallowed. 

_Merlin! It was bad enough knowing that the man had been sleeping around, but to have him looking at herself like that… Well, it was safe to say, she had never considered him as a_ **_man_ ** _before, either. Snape had been firmly placed in that sexless category of people named ‘teachers’._ Though, after the revelations of last night at the staff party – well, she supposed, that sexless teacher-category didn't really exist anywhere, except in her head.

Banishing those confusing thoughts, she shook her head, instead focusing on her reason for talking to Snape in the first place. "As you know, Professor," she started confidently, "I'm considered one of the top targets for the remaining Death Eaters at large, possibly ranking among the top ten targets. Therefore, my interest in the rumored plans for an Azkaban break-out is quite personal in nature."

"And you do not believe that the safest place in wizarding Britain, Hogwarts, will be able to protect you after such an event?" he drawled, not looking at her as he marked the phials and bottles sitting on his desk, labelling them with his cramped handwriting. "Fear not, Minerva does her best to keep the school safe. She will spare no effort to protect defenseless students and fragile people such as you."

"Hogwarts has been breached before," she said stiffly, not raising to his bait. _To tell her – HER – that she was fragile? The nerve of the man!_

He snorted. "I wouldn't say that. You do realize I raised the wards before the Battle? Even the Dark Lord would have had a hard time forcing his way into Hogwarts."

"It doesn't matter, because I'm not always in the castle. There are trips to Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, holidays and visits to friends, as well as my own home," she said. "I'm just as vulnerable outside of Hogwarts as during the war. All it takes are a few Death Eaters and a surprise attack. Then I'm tortured, kept as a prisoner or dead – or after a while, all of the above. That's why I wondered if you would have any ideas as to what they are planning for the break-out. I'd rather have a few Death Eaters on the loose, than the whole angry lot of them."

"Don't you trust the Auror Office? Don't you trust your friends, Potter and young Weasley, to catch up with the Death Eaters' plans?" He was sneering, goading her again.

Her silence was almost deafening for a while, and then she sighed, looking straight at him. "No, I've been a year in the Ministry. It's supremely ineffective. As for Harry and Ron, well, let's just say, problem solving is my area of expertise, not theirs. Besides, they're merely Aurors in training, they really don't have all that much influence on the investigations."

He grunted, seemingly displeased with her acquiescence. "What makes you think I haven't offered up all I know to the grown-up Aurors?"

At that she grinned. "Because I know the Ministry. They're too stupid to ask."

He raised his eyebrows at that, and said with a faint, but reluctant smile: "Then we are in agreement."

The silence evolved into a more comfortable, companionable atmosphere as they worked. She continued with sorting those jars and phials he had marked, and he registered the amount of every ingredient in his ledger as he worked his way through the stores.

After a while, he said, not looking at her: "Likely, it will be a surprise raid, there aren't that many of them to go for a full blown attack. They will cause a distraction, then free as many as they can, having spare wands for the prisoners to join in as they are freed. As to the nature of the distraction, I can only speculate. It will, in all probability, be something spectacular to draw out the guardians of Azkaban. Given the location, the distraction will either be something airborne or something from the sea. Maybe they'll take a leaf out of _your_ book, marshaling a dragon for the attack."

She pondered that for a moment, nodding in agreement, finding the ideas plausible. Then she asked: "Do you know how many Death Eaters there are on the loose?"

He shrugged. "More than the Ministry is letting the public know. Quite a few went on the run after the Final Battle, and only those who were hurt were apprehended. After that, they've only managed to capture a few, as you probably know. I'd say a few hundred, give or take, most of them lower ranks minions and associates. And a few Inner Circle."

She nodded, shuddering slightly. The capture of Rodolphus Lestrange had been covered widely in the Prophet, grinning Aurors showing off the scowling, profusely bleeding Death Eater, pushing him into trial only hours after the capture. After that, only a few lesser known Death Eaters had been caught, but all had been publicly displayed. To boost public morale, reassuring the magical community that the Ministry had control. _Though everyone knew the situation was far from safe._

Herself, she had been assigned a bodyguard during her year in the Ministry. Now, as she was stationed at Hogwarts, the Auror Office had deemed that she was safe enough without an Auror to watch over her at all times. _But she wasn't convinced. There was no such thing as a safe place, and she would have to keep up her guard at all times._

"I've told them all the names I can think of, but they're not acting on it, as far as I can tell." His voice was a little bitter, and he looked angry, his usual scowl deepening. 

Her instincts told her that this was something more than the usual dislike of the Ministry. _There's something more going on. Why didn’t the Ministry take advantage of his knowledge? He was posing as Voldemort's right hand, for crying out loud. He would know a lot, and would be a valuable asset in catching the Death Eaters. It was almost like … the Ministry didn't fully trust him?_

Shaking her head, she rid herself of that silly notion. After all, Severus Snape had sacrificed more than anyone for the Order. The Ministry knew that. He was acknowledged as the war hero that he rightfully was. _Maybe this was only the usual incompetence of those who were in charge, Saul Croaker and Gawain Robards coming easily to mind._

"You don't believe me?" he said angrily, interpreting her shaking her head in the worst, possible way.

"No," she gasped, "I was just thinking…"

But he overrode her, gesticulating angrily, black eyes furiously locked on her face, raising himself halfway up from his chair, leaning forward on his arms: "Because YOU are in danger because of their lack of attention. The Chosen One and Weasley – well, they'd want to kill them, but YOU symbolize everything the Dark Lord was opposing. As an intelligent, powerful Muggleborn witch instrumental in bringing down the Dark Lord, you are the perfect target for them. Beware, Miss Granger, because you don't want to experience what the Death Eaters do to their enemies. Especially enemy witches."

He fell silent, black eyes bottling up the emotions once again, and looked away as he sat down.

Hermione shivered, goosebumps again riddling her flesh in the cold dungeon. She could only suspect what the Death Eaters did to captured witches. _This man knew. He'd probably … even though she didn't want to think such things of her teacher, the faithful Order spy, a man she trusted … he'd have witnessed, even perpetrated such actions himself to stay in his role._ Swallowing, she averted her eyes from him.

He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, one hand slowly fingering a button on his sleeve. "Miss Granger, I'm sorry for my outburst, but you have to be careful. I think the threat to you is more dire than the Ministry will acknowledge. They believe Potter is still the most important target for the Death Eaters, but knowing them as well as I do…" a grimace flew over his face, "… it has to be you."

Xxxx

Thank Merlin she left after that, obviously shaken by his words. She had bitten her lip, looking scared and nervous, but her keen intelligence and her grasp of facts had been clear, even faced with a threat like that. Her warm, brown eyes had been frightened, but she was nowhere near panicking.

The chit had nodded, and thanked him – _thanked HIM, of all people_ – for his advice, while rubbing her arms to stay warm. Smiling a little to himself, he relished the way her nipples had reacted to the cold, standing out like hard, little pebbles underneath her tight, sleeveless top. Silently, he told the castle to turn up the temperature to normal, and it obeyed promptly, blessed heat flowing into his office. 

There were so many things he wasn't able to tell her, nor would he ever want to. He had read her thoughts easily, and saw the degree of mixed uneasiness and curiosity about his Death Eater activities, but also the way she _wanted_ to trust him.

No one knew the extent of what he had done in the past, not the Ministry, not the Wizengamot, not the Order. Not even Dumbledore had known, but that was more due to the fact that the old fool had preferred to be kept in the dark, not sullying himself with what his spy had to endure. Severus snorted derisively.

And now, there was the unspoken agreement of the Death Eaters: _Never to mention what happened at meetings and revels, never to mention who had been responsible for those actions known to the public._

Those who had gone free through their trials would lose goodwill if their atrocities were revealed, while those who were in Azkaban would get their sentences prolonged if the public found out the extent of their depravities. _He might be a spy, but he certainly wasn't a snitch_ . Even though everyone apprehended by the Aurors had good reasons to spill the beans on him, they knew that he held a wealth of information that would cling them up guilty to the point of a Dementor's Kiss if he were to retaliate. So, consequently, everyone kept silent out of fear. _He was safe, for now_.

Sighing to himself, he looked around in the dungeon. Thanks to Miss Granger, he was done organizing and registering his stores. Everything was orderly, everything in place, ready for those little rascals to create chaos in a matter of days.

Then he realized Granger had forgotten to ask for a crucial piece of information, namely when the attack on Azkaban would possibly take place. He wasn't sure, but given Voldemort's penchant for symbolism, it would happen on a date that meant something to the Dark Lord, like Halloween or New Year's Eve. _As always, the Death Eaters would be faithful to their Lord's wishes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione, I feel your hangover. I've been there, and I swear, I'll never go there again, lol.


	3. Life in the Spotlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He crossed his arms across his broad chest, giving her a faint smile, showing off his crooked, yellow teeth. She sincerely hoped that he, with his Legilimency expertise, hadn't listened in on her thoughts, but from his smug expression, she wasn't all that sure. Her blush deepened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! <3

**_The Daily Prophet, 1 September:_ **

_– The Hogwarts train will be heavily guarded by Aurors, Rita Skeeter writes. The Ministry denies that this measure is due to current rumours of rogue Death Eaters possibly attacking the train, and spokeswitch Marigold Lebennon says to our reporter: – We know parents are concerned for the safety of their children after the war. The Auror guard is merely an outstretched hand from the Ministry to meet those concerns. The Minister feels that people will be reassured by knowing the Ministry spares no effort to protect the students, even though there are absolutely no reason at all to be worried. We are happy to reveal that Auror-in-training, Harry Potter, will be a part of the Auror guard for the Hogwarts train, Lebennon adds with a smile._

* * *

The students were off the train, safely through the grounds and inside the castle, crowding the halls and corridors with shouts, laughter, hexes and reunions of friends and foes alike, like a veritable sea of black robes and colourful ties. Their school robes were all squeaky clean, well-fitting and new-smelling, and Hermione smiled to herself, knowing that it wouldn't be so in a few weeks. All too soon, the robes would become too short for growing kids, often stained and spotted, and with frayed hems and cuffs. Then some girls would look up spells to repair and lengthen their robes, and the boys would shrug it off until a diligent prefect would take them to task.

The welcoming feast was just as sumptuous as ever, and she thought she could just die for Hogwarts' roast chicken, with fresh peas and beans, roast potatoes with rosemary and buttery sauce. The smell was delicious, wafting over the Great Hall, and she almost couldn't wait to tuck in. The food at Hogwarts' feasts were, in her opinion, simply _magic_.

The first years were simultaneously starry-eyed and scared. Hermione thought they all looked so surprisingly small and young – _really, her friends and herself were never that tiny, were they_? Ruefully, she realized that this was a part of becoming an adult – she was getting older, and consequently, the students seemed younger and more childish.

The Headmistress had introduced Hermione as the new Arithmancy apprentice, and she felt herself wince at the admiring gasps and whispers from the students.

"It's **her**!"

"Hermione Granger, the war heroine, the genius!"

"The brains of the Golden Trio! She brought down Voldemort with Potter, she's Harry Potter's best friend!

"She dated Ronald Weasley! They broke up! Wow, she's so hot, I wonder if she'd be interested in dating here at Hogwarts, she's not that much older than us seventh years…!"

"I'm going to enroll in Arithmancy, just to see her!"

She felt flushed and embarrassed, and she shared a pained look with Harry, sitting at the table set out for the Auror guards beneath the Head table. There had only been time for a quick hug, and there would be virtually no time to talk after the banquet. Still, it felt good to see him, though she wondered what he thought of being used in such an obvious media spin story, like the Ministry had done in the Prophet this morning. The ovations for the Auror guards had been thunderous in the Hall, and she noted the slightly jealous glances from the Defense teacher Francis Heron. He didn't garner half the attention she or the Auror guard – or rather, Harry in particular – got.

Most teachers earned a smattering of applause, excepting McGonagall, who received an equal thunderous cheer as the Aurors, and Professor Snape, who were met by the same amount of whispering, pointing, sighs and low-key exclamations as Hermione herself – though there was no applause for him. While she struggled to not let it all affect her and not let her insecurity show, Snape merely stared coolly out at the mass of students, just like they were no more worthy of his attention than the buzzing of a Glumbumble.

Xxxx

Severus had steeled himself for the automatic flinch that always went through him at the sight of Lily's eyes in Potter's face, but this time, it hadn't materialized. _He was not bothered at all by seeing Harry Potter_. The realization was of epic proportions to him, and it nearly bowled him over, leaving him silent and stunned at the dinner table. He guessed that the welcome feast was probably delicious as always, but he chewed mechanically. For all he could tell, it could have been pieces of cardboard in his mouth.

He was dimly aware of most of Minerva's introductions, but he noticed that the students still seemed to have that unhealthy fascination with himself, and now Granger too. Severus smirked slightly to himself, seeing the awestruck expression on the faces of the older boys. _Oh, Granger would have a veritable queue of student admirers_ , he was sure.

Again, his thought turned back to the fact that seeing Potter did not cause him pain. He had known since the war ended that he was no longer in love with Lily. _Well, he still loved her, but not like_ **_that_ ** _anymore_. That automatic flinch of pain had still been there, whenever he had the misfortune of running into Potter. _The fact that it was gone, signaled that he truly had moved on_. Severus swallowed, taking a big gulp of his goblet with the delicious Elf-made red wine from Lyonesse. The wine should, he knew from experience, taste of blackcurrant, with a note of stables and autumn leaves, closing with a long, tangy finish, but right now, it was nothing but stale water to his palate. He knew he was drinking much too fast in his distress. _What would losing his sense of_ **_loss_ ** _mean, the very thing that had shaped his life, his anchor, his remorse, the shackles which had bound him in service to the Order?_

Xxxx

To herself, Hermione could admit that she was secretly happy that her time with the students would be limited. After all, she had her own studies to tend to. She'd only see them at meals, and when she had training as a teacher. Though, she had full privileges as a teacher for deducting points and assigning detentions. 

So far, her studies had mostly been reading theory with the odd task of predictions set by Professor Vector, and in her readings, she had pursued different directions for her master thesis. But now, she was waiting for the first class to arrive for her practical training, together with Septima Vector.

"In this lesson, you'll only observe. In two weeks, you'll lead this class for another fortnight, and then we evaluate your teaching performance. For tomorrow, I'd like to see your predictions for how your training as an Arithmancy teacher will fare. I will be especially interested in which factors you can determine," Professor Vector said, before unlocking the doors with a flick of her wand.

The students filed in, and Hermione swallowed, as she saw the curious gazes of the fifth-year Arithmancy class, a class much larger than any Arithmancy class Hermione had ever heard about. With a sinking feeling, she met the eager, curious glances from the boys, many of the sixteen year olds thin and gangly from their growth spurts, but all of them looked excited to see her. _Oh no, this is because of me_. _These students aren't interested in the subject at all. It will be hell to teach them anything._

Xxxx

Later that evening, she sought out Professor Snape again. The door slammed open, and Professor Snape towered over her, staring her down angrily, before he barked: "Now what, Miss Granger?!"

Hermione merely blinked, mouth half-open. _No wonder he was angry._ Obviously, he had just come out of the shower, as his black hair was still dripping, plastered to his head, making it look longer than usual, and he only wore his black trousers, a white towel over his shoulders. Swallowing, she closed her mouth. _Who knew Professor Snape had such a lean, muscled frame?_

He was very pale, with a smattering of black chest hair, tapering down to a line pointing down into his trousers, accentuating his hard, pectoral muscles. His shoulders were wide, and his arms looked stronger than she would have thought. A few scars riddled his shoulders and chest, but in a way, she found that it merely accentuated his sculpted body. _Why did the man hide under so much clothing? His upper body was positively gorgeous_ , she thought, the notion immediately followed by a quick blush. _Sweet Morgana, what did I just think?_

He crossed his arms across his broad chest, giving her a faint smile, showing off his crooked, yellow teeth. She sincerely hoped that he, with his Legilimency expertise, hadn't listened in on her thoughts, but from his smug expression, she wasn't all that sure. Her blush deepened.

"Sorry, Professor, I forgot to ask you an important question the other night. I was wondering…"

He took a quick look at both ends of the corridor, before saying: "Enter, Miss Granger. Such things are best discussed in private."

Moving quickly through his office, he motioned to a half open door behind his desk. Light spilled out from the door, making a rectangular shape of light on the office floor. The door would lead to his private quarters, she realized. Suddenly, she felt all giggly. _Here she was, following a half-naked Professor Snape into his private rooms_. If anyone had suggested anything like that to her two weeks ago, she'd have laughed herself silly, though it sounded infinitely more dirty than it was.

Entering, she looked around with curiosity. It was more of a bachelor's den than she had expected, and it looked every inch the dungeon that it was. The stone floor was a deep grey, the slate uneven, and one single, large window gave a dark, greenish light, keeping the domed stone ceiling dark and shadowy. 

With a small nod, she looked approvingly at the bookshelves covering the walls from floor to roof, all around the room, but the furniture was old, dented, with one large, well-used black, leather wing chair, a small table, and a too-small leather sofa – _the kind of uncomfortable, too-hard sofa one couldn’t properly rest on_ \- in front of the roaring fireplace. Plus, the sofa was covered in a thick layer of dust. _Not that many visitors, then_.

He motioned to the sofa, and said imperiously: "Sit." She peered dubiously at dust covering the leather. As he disappeared off into another room, presumably his bedroom, she decided to swish her wand, Vanishing the dust, before sitting down.

Snape came back while buttoning up a black, soft-looking shirt. She waited for all those buttons to be done, and then she asked: "When do you think the Azkaban attack would take place?"

Frowning at her, like she had been rude, forgetting to observe some sort of obscure, wizarding niceties, he pointed to a cupboard. "Firewhisky, Miss Granger? The proper kind, I might add, not that vile petrol that Minerva offers."

"Yes, please," she said, taking the tumbler he Summoned to her, feeling rankled that Snape, of all people, had silently accused her of rudeness. _This coming from the Prince of Snark himself!_ Irritated, she took a much larger gulp than she normally would have done, and as a result she coughed violently.

He looked faintly amused, saying: "It is an acquired taste, Miss Granger. After all, you're still very _young_."

Giving him her best glare for that jab at her, she downed the Firewhisky. Her eyes watered, and steam came out of her ears. She didn't dare to look at him, afraid that he might be laughing at her.

He settled into his big chair, holding a tumbler with considerably more whisky than her own had held in his hands.

"I would like to know, have you any inkling as to when?"

This time, he answered straight away, rubbing the hair at the back of his neck with the towel: "I have several theories. Most of them will be wrong, but I'm convinced it will be on a date that was somewhat important to the Dark Lord. He was a stickler for symbolism."

"I see," she said slowly. "And which dates could that be?"

He shrugged, Banishing the towel, sinking back comfortably in his chair, his hair seeming impossibly shiny and clean. _It made him look better, younger, somehow even nice._ That thought made her shift in her seat, thighs rubbing together, like she was trying to scratch a growing itch. 

"His birthday, maybe. Or one of his victories, or losses. Depends on the mind of the new leader of the Death Eaters, I suppose."

"You think there's really a new leader?" she said, breathlessly.

"Positive," he said assuredly. "The Dark Lord ran the Death Eaters with quite a heavy hand. The organization wouldn't function without a leader. They aren't used to thinking for themselves."

Brows furrowing, she asked: "But who is it, this new leader?"

Looking pensively into the fireplace, he replied: "It can't be just anyone, I imagine. But it should be someone who can think outside the box, and who can manage to unite them. Someone powerful, for sure."

Her mind was working furiously. _Who could it be? One of the Malfoy men? Dolohov? Yaxley? Rabastan Lestrange? Someone else still on the loose?_ Chewing on her bottom lip, she suddenly noted that his eyes were locked on her mouth, his expression curiously fascinated. She blushed a little, saying: "It's a bad habit, I know. I can't seem to shake it."

He arched his eyebrow, giving her a sardonic smile. "If you had nothing else on your mind, I have things to attend to, Miss Granger. I trust you can see yourself out?"

The dismissal was obvious, and she rose quickly to take her leave. As she turned to close the door, her eyes lingered for a moment on the man in the chair. Seeing him with clean hair and without his shirt had somehow shifted her perception of him. _He was definitely not old. At least not_ **_too_ ** _old – but her mind refused to follow that line of thinking any further. But more importantly, was he to be trusted?_

Xxxx

 _They had sent her to spy on him. He was absolutely sure._ Fury competed with hurt inside him, partly because he, once again, wasn't trusted, and partly because he knew the Ministry, for once, had made the perfect choice. It would be hard to resist imparting his knowledge to her: she was intelligent, curious, inquisitive and engaging – and she had grown up very nicely, indeed. Her big brown eyes, those perky breasts, and the way she had a habit of worrying her lip made blood rush to his groin just by thinking about her. Though, he vowed to himself he'd fight that purely physical and highly inappropriate attraction, and stay in control as always.

 _Fuck Kingsley Shacklebolt_ , _Gawain Robards and Saul fucking Croaker,_ he thought angrily. Not only had the they not trusted him when Albus was still alive, but after the war, when his name was cleared by sodding Harry Hero-That-Lived Potter, Kingsley and his boss Gawain Robards, the new Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had refused to let him help with hunting down the remaining Death Eaters. They had even turned down offers for information, and Severus could just not see why Aurors would prefer to be in the dark, when knowledge was so readily available. _Now, when everything had blown up in their faces, then Kingsley and Robards chose to send little Miss Granger to lure the information out of him! Better late than never_ , Severus supposed with a dark scowl.

But he'd like to see how far they'd make poor Miss Granger go. _Would she come on to him, or would she try for a more innocent approach? And whenever had they taught her to Occlude her mission like a pro?_ If it wasn't so glaringly obvious that her attention had to be a Ministry set-up, he would have thought her to have honest intentions in seeking him out, based on what he could read from her mind. He chuckled a little, remembering her embarrassment after she literally ogled his torso. _Well, he'd please them, letting her into his confidence, showing them that Severus Snape had nothing to hide._

He smiled to himself. _Actually, he enjoyed talking to this grown-up version of Miss Granger. She was witty, a bit more wary than she had been when she was younger, and still razor-sharp smart. This could be mutually beneficial._ She could make her reports for the Ministry, doing a good job spying and get her pat on the back, and he would have intelligent conversation with a pretty witch for a while, until she was done spying. Plus, it gave the added benefit of something remotely interesting happening, apart from the mess he had managed to stir up himself. His life had been in shambles since he was born, and a new development of action wouldn't ruin a perfectly good waste of a lifetime.

 _After all, keeping your enemies close was a sound strategy. Maybe the failure to do so was the real reason behind the fall of the Dark Lord_ , he mused, _because strong paranoia and overwhelming arrogance was not the best foundation for good planning_. He was sure about one thing, though, the chit was serious in her intention to achieve her Arithmancy mastery. She would be at Hogwarts for the next five years. _And, he found that he was strangely satisfied with the prospects of that fact_.

Xxxx

The post owls were arriving for the Great Hall, but oddly enough, the castle wasn't letting them in through the roof top windows. The result was a fierce storm of pecking from scores of angry owls, and much pointing and whispering from the students. The Headmistress rose, face stern, but Hermione caught a quick, pleading look from Minerva, directed at Professor Snape, and he rolled his eyes in response. And suddenly, the windows were open again, and the owls soared in with the mail. _Strange_ , she thought, but then she couldn't help her smiling in delight – it was the first owl delivery of the year with a full student body in session, and she was after all her years at Hogwarts still awestruck by the beauty of it: Hundreds of wings beating through the air, like a hailstorm of brown, tawny and white feathers, yellow eyes descending rapidly on the tables, beaks clicking with expectations of treats or knuts.

After the owls had left, she rather thought she found breakfast at the High table even odder than before the students returned, wondering when she would get used to all the staring and the ever-present whispering. _She sincerely hoped that the students would get used to seeing her fairly soon._

The mail, predictably, led to students laughing and whooping with joy over gifts from home, while some were groaning, but there was also a Ravenclaw girl breaking out in great, wracking sobs. _Oh, bad news, then_. Hermione felt a shot of icy worry going through her – _was it another attack, or something more innocuous?_ – and Filius Flitwick hurried off from the Head table to take care of the girl.

Professor Vector, Septima, she reminded herself, leaned over to Hermione, saying: "Don't worry about the students staring. After a month or two you'll be like the wall to them. At least that's what happened to Severus. They were staring, whispering and pointing for two months, and then it died down to what you see today."

She glanced over at Professor Snape, sitting at her left, and then at the students. _No, they were still looking at him, but only occasionally. Mostly girls_ , she noted with a bit of surprise.

"You'll get used to it," he drawled, not looking at her as he buttered his toast. "However, double check everything you eat or drink. They are quite adept at infiltrating the kitchens, and I must say, the marks I have had to set on love potions for the last two years are remarkably higher than before the war ended."

She blinked, staring with suspicion at her cup of tea and her toast.

"How do you check for love potions?" she demanded, her voice a little shrill. "Most of them are both taste- and odourless!" _Merlin, it would be embarrassing to fall prey to a love potion from a student!_ She felt panic rising, thinking of all the possible ways she'd make a fool of herself in such a situation.

Professor Snape gave her a small smirk, and pointed to his prominent nose. "Experience, Miss Granger, and extraordinary olfactory sensors."

Her face fell in disappointment. But she was never one for giving up and despairing, so she said bravely: "Would you please teach me how to recognize those potions?"

He looked at her then, studying her nose with a considering glance. Then he shook his head. "I'm not sure you can do it, Miss Granger, because it really does depend on your sense of smell. If it is keen enough, you can do it. If not, teaching you will not be possible, I'm afraid."

"Oh," she said, feeling that surge of panic rise again.

"However," he continued with a small tip of his head, "I can help you to check your meals at the table when we're both present. It is important to prevent undignified situations in front of the students. They need to respect the staff."

Beaming at him, she said: "Why, thank you, sir! I appreciate that." _Strange_ , she thought, _he seemed to gain a slight colour on his face as he took in her smile. Maybe he really was nice beneath his snark?_ _Or,_ she reconsidered, seeing the calculating look his expression morphed into, _maybe not._

Xxxx

She was in a stall in the bathroom outside the Arithmancy classroom, when she heard a group of tittering girls enter the bathroom

"Merlin, he's so hot. Not good-looking, not really, but he makes me want to…" a girl said, finishing with a giggle, as the other girls around them laughed.

"I can see what you mean," another voice said, "and rumour has it that he was really out there, seducing a lot of witches last year. My aunt told me that her friend had been to bed with him, and it was totally hot."

"Wondering if he'd ever consider a student?" the first one said wistfully.

"Probably not," a third one said. "He'd be sacked, you know. You need to wait until you finish school, at least."

"Or maybe a love potion," the second girl said dreamily.

The first girl snorted. "Don't you remember what happened when Triala Deveran tried to slip him a love potion last year? He found out, of course, being a Potion master and all, and she got detention with Filch for half a year for attacking a teacher, and she was very nearly expelled. The only thing saving her was her being a Gryffindor, and McGonagall doesn't expel students from her own House. A love potion seems like a very bad idea to me."

Hermione rolled her eyes, drumming her fingers on her thighs. _Those silly girls were talking about Snape, for Merlin's sake! They had to be insane, or maybe they actually preferred someone mean._ With a prim little snort, she hoped they only suffered from a stupid school girl crush, not a long lasting unhealthy infatuation with bad boys.

"Well," the second girl said defiantly, "I've heard that Troy Mercan plans to slip Granger a love potion during the weekend. He's so in love with her, and she is not a Potioneer. She won't notice before it fades."

Hermione gasped indignantly, but her gasp drowned in the shriek from the two other girls.

"What does he think she'll do when it wears off? He'll be expelled, for sure!"

"Nah, he seems convinced that once she's tried him in bed, she'll stick to him," the second girl said with disbelieving laughter. The two other girls burst out laughing too, clearly not believing their school mate's sexual prowess.

Slamming the door to her stall open, she glared at the girls in the bathroom. With terrified squeaks, they ran from the room, leaving her alone and seething in front of the row of sinks. _Trying to poison her with a potion – this boy was in for it, whoever he was!_ _She'd not ingest anything that wasn't triple checked, even if she had to make her food from scratch!_

Washing her hands with jerky movements, hands shaking in anger, she suddenly felt a great rush of relief, remembering that Snape had promised to check her food. From what those girls had just said, it seemed like he had been successful in discovering love potions earlier. 

Her anger slowly dissipating, she smiled a little, feeling sorry for Snape, who had to put up with all those lovesick girls. Hermione supposed he'd never stoop to seducing students. _At least, he had never done so before._ Her brow furrowed slightly in a brief worry.

Xxxx

On Friday night, on her way to the staff room for a quiet drink and some company, she stumbled upon Professor Snape and a crying, sixth year girl. He was on patrol duty, and in the instant he caught eye of her, his expression became very relieved. She almost raised her eyebrows in surprise, having never seen the stern Potions Master expressing a so very human emotion as relief.

"Miss Granger," he exclaimed. "Would you please escort Miss Derenivan to the Hospital wing?"

The girl was sobbing, looking up to Professor Snape with teary eyes, whispering: "Please, I'm sorry, sir, don't leave me, I'll be alright."

Hermione noted that he looked uncomfortable, and brusquely, he foisted the girl on her by a snort: "You'll go with Miss Granger, she'll help you."

And by that, he hurried off down the corridor, walking so fast that the scones on the wall fluttered by his passage.

Sighing, she put her arm around the shoulder of the girl, asking in her kindest voice: "What's the matter, Miss Derenivan? Are you hurt?"

"No," the girl sobbed, "I just love him so much, and he doesn't want me!"

Hermione almost rolled her eyes. _Great, a lovesick sixteen year old girl. Just what she wanted on her Friday night. No wonder Snape was in a hurry to get rid of her._

She patted the girl on the back, saying: "Did you quarrel with your boyfriend, or is he in the dark about your feelings?"

The girl only cried harder. "He just told me, it'll never be us. I love him so much, it's Professor Snape, you see."

Flabbergasted, Hermione tried to hide her shock. "Oh well, I suppose he's right. The age difference is rather large, not to mention it would be _illegal_. Come on, now, I'll take you to the Infirmary, Madam Pomfrey will help you calm down."

They walked slowly towards the moving staircases, and the girl hiccupped, sniffling softly. Hermione held her arm, thinking that this definitely had to be one of the downsides of being a teacher. _Stupid kids pining for their teachers_. She sighed to herself.

 _Though_ , she had to admit, _those girls had a point_. He wasn't good looking, but his body certainly was, and he had that thrilling, dark mystique going for him, so being attracted to him was only natural. _What – no? What was she thinking? She was NOT attracted to Snape! That was an absurd idea, if she ever heard one._

Scowling, she delivered the girl to Madam Pomfrey’s care.

Xxxx

Later, when she entered the staff room, she couldn't find Snape. She wanted to tell him that the girl would be fine, and that she understood that it was very uncomfortable to be the object of desire of a student. But he wasn't there.

As she poured herself a cup of strong, black tea, Francis Heron sidled up to her. "Why are you looking for Snape? You should be looking for a proper wizard, one who can match your fire and passion … for doing great things," Francis said, brown eyes boring into her, slinging his arm casually around her shoulder, hugging her too tight into his chest.

Irritated, she moved away, shrugging out of his embrace. "I escorted a student to the Infirmary, one that he had apprehended on patrol. I only wanted to tell him she's in good care."

Heron snorted, again moving closer, this time leaning into her. "One of his little admirers, I suppose. They're all over the place."

"Yes, well, they might be," she said. "Still, I'd like to tell him she's fine."

"He's out – again," Heron said curtly. "Chumming with old pals, I expect, he does that quite regularly on the weekends. Wondering what he's up to, as his old pals are ... rather unsavoury."

She frowned at him. _Did Heron think Snape had taken up with the former Death Eaters? That was a serious accusation._ Finding her voice, she answered: "Interesting theory, though I find it unlikely." She threw him a dirty look, and went over to sit with Septima and Professor Sinistra. _She'd rather take Snape's snark any day than the overblown self-esteem of the Junior Defense teacher._

Personally, she was more worried about Snape not being there to check her food and drinks, than his eventual socializing with former Death Eaters. He might not be entirely of the Light, but he couldn't be _that_ depraved. Frowning, she reconsidered: _Or could he? The story of his life told her he was a consummate actor._ Shaking her head, she disbanded those silly notions. To her, the imminent problem of finding food and drinks free from love potions for the weekend was more important. She would have to be extremely careful, not ingesting anything not made by herself while he was away.


	4. Teaching a Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At that, Septima had almost giggled, as she replied: "Why don't you find your inner Severus, then, and channel him in your lesson."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! <3

**_The Daily Prophet, 19 September:_ **

_– No comment, says Minister of Magic, Saul Croaker. – I do not speculate on rumours or nightmares, the Auror Office deals with facts, as does the rest of the Ministry._

_– The Ministry's refusal to comment on the Death Eater resurgence is getting ridiculous, says Wizengamot member, the Honorary Marian Prewett. – I myself saw a group of people dressed in black cloaks and Death Eater masks Apparate together, just at the mouth of Knockturn Alley yesterday. They are getting bolder, and one can only worry that the Ministry is getting dumber._

* * *

"There you are!" Francis Heron smiled widely at her, his brown eyes lightning up at the sight of her entering the staff room. The afternoon sun sent long rays of sunlight through the tall windows, and the Defense teacher was making himself a cuppa in the kitchenette. Apart from him, the only other occupant was Professor Snape, sitting in a deep chair reading ‘ _Potions Monthly’._

Reluctantly, Hermione moved towards the kitchenette, because she too needed her tea. Heron obviously took this as an invitation, and pounced on her. "I wanted to tell you about the time I vanquished a vicious Norwegian Ridgeback in Spain. The poor thing was sweating through its mouth, and was quite desperate for a cooler climate, lashing out against anyone and everyone…"

Groaning inwardly, she gave him an insincere smile, closing off her nostrils to the cloying smell of his aftershave. The man was handsome enough and most of the staff seemed to like him, but why did he have to be such an idiot when dealing with her? She did not want to hear any more stories about his exploits. _Good grief, he was approaching Lockhart in his storytelling, and that was saying something._

Across the room, Professor Snape lowered his journal, smirking as he watched the two of them. She gave him an annoyed look, before excusing herself politely to Heron. That made Heron feign sad puppy eyes, putting an exaggerated, downcast expression on his face. Moving closer, far too close for comfort, Heron murmured softly: "I would love to go on a date with you, Hermione. Just the two of us, in Hogsmeade. Tonight."

Staring up at the man, almost having to crane her neck to look up at him, she spat: "No!" Biting her tongue to moderate her response - _damn it, he’s a colleague_ , _Hermione, don’t antagonize him!_ \- she added: "I don't think that would be a good idea, you know, as we work together." 

Quickly whirling away from him, her tea sloshing in her cup, she caught what had to be an amused _grin_ on Snape's face. _Snape, that bastard, had the audacity to laugh at her predicament!_

Then he opened his mouth, drawling: “Francis, you must realize, young Miss Granger has too many suitors to want your company on her birthday. I’m sure she, famous as she is, is swamped with invitations already, and she won’t be interested in an old coot like yourself.” 

“Really, Severus…” Heron puffed himself up, but Hermione froze, staring at Snape. Apart from the presents from Harry, Neville and Luna, no one had congratulated her on turning twenty years old. No one at Hogwarts had remembered her birthday. _None except Snape of all people, and he hadn’t even bothered to congratulate her._

Furiously, with tears brimming behind her eyelids, she spun out of the staffroom – _never mind that she had just arrived_ – and backtracked her steps to her chambers.

Now, she had to face another evening on her own, with the bitter realization that she, Hermione Granger, a third of the Golden Trio and brainpower extraordinaire, was just as lonely as she had been in her first autumn at Hogwarts: About to celebrate her birthday in solitude. 

Her parents were in Australia, still without any memories of their real past. Everyone told her that reversal of a Memory Charm of the magnitude she had used would destroy their minds. Remembering the shocked face of the St. Mungo's Head Healer in mind injuries, she shuddered.

_The white-haired, old witch had whispered: "Were you out of you mind? No one does something like that. We've never had anything like it or heard about it, not even You-Know-Who did ever try to replace someone's entire life experiences like that. I'm amazed you succeeded, but also scared – this is dark use of Mind magic of a high level indeed. A reversal would be likely to overload their brains to the point of destruction. Do not attempt a recovery if you value your parents at all. I cannot stress this enough."_

Snarling out a loss of points to a couple of snogging Ravenclaws hiding behind the tapestry of Otto the Obnoxious and his giant maze, she speeded up until she could slam her own door behind her. Sinking down on her sofa, she hid her face in her hands, giving in to a frustrated sob. _Merlin, she wanted her parents: Safe, sound and remembering her. She was supposed to be happy, surrounded by people who cared for her: Her parents, her friends, her boyfriend... Her happy ending wasn't supposed to be like this._ Sighing, she very knew that disastrous love affair with Ron should never have happened.

_It had all started in bed. The kissing was fabulous, but the sex wasn't. Plainly, he just didn't do it for her, and in all likelihood, she didn't do it for him either. Ron got embarrassed, angry, hurt and frustrated. She was disappointed, sore, frustrated and felt like she failed an exam every single time they tried. Out of their mutual frustration, the other rows started: Who did the dishes last time, her not making dinner as well as Molly, him not doing the laundry right and making a mess of her bookshelves, the disagreement on his so-called ‘brilliant’ idea to live next door to the Burrow, enabling the Weasley clan to just ‘pop by’ at all hours. Still, she berated herself for making the final blow. If only she had shut up…_

_The end came after that last disastrous shag. He had been too fast and too rough, hurting her. Squirming in pain, she told him to stop, but he only grunted: "A few more, 'Mione, I'm almost there!" As Ron withdrew his dripping cock, she had stared silently, angrily at him. He had growled out: "Gods, 'Mione, can't you just relax and enjoy, for once? Normal women orgasm from time to time, you know!"_

_Stung, she hissed at him: "I know! I come every time I masturbate. You're doing this wrong, no matter how I tell you to do it! It's not supposed to be this painful!"_

_His face reddened, and he blurted out: "Lavender was satisfied!"_

_She sneered at him, checking with a hand between her legs if she was bleeding this time too, and spat: "She probably faked it!"_

_In hindsight, she realized that this hit straight in his male pride, but, at the moment, she was caught up in her own anger. His eyes bulged slightly, and he rose from the bed, slamming the door to the bathroom, before leaving for the Burrow._

_Two days later, he had made the front page of the Prophet, kissing two model witches at the same time. Everyone in the wizarding world knew that Hermione Granger, War Heroine, had just been stood up. Everyone knew she had failed in her relationship. Rita Skeeter had a field day – or rather a whole season of it._

But it didn't matter, in the end. In hindsight, she must have known the entire time, deep inside, that their relationship was doomed. They didn't have any interests in common, and they weren't able to navigate the boring trivia of everyday life together after the war-fueled adrenaline kick of being on the run. Still, she had failed in public and in private, and failure wasn’t simply something that Hermione Granger was equipped to handle. _She couldn’t fail. She_ **_wasn’t_ ** _someone who failed. Especially not in public_. 

Making a quick decision, she strode into the bathroom to grab a phial. _What a way to celebrate turning twenty_. Sitting down on her bed, she downed her trusty Dreamless Sleep, and she was gone by the time her head hit the pillow.

Xxxx

Her chest expanded methodically with a deep breath, before deflating, but her attempt at calming herself failed miserably. This would be the first time she would run a lesson on her own with the fifth year Arithmancy class, and her stomach was in knots. She knew she had a good lesson plan, approved by Septima, and it was highly unlikely that anyone in class would ask her a question she couldn't answer. But as for controlling the class, _oh, she was nervous_.

The fifth years were almost thirty students, the largest OWL-class Septima had ever had. Twenty-five were young wizards, and only the five girls and six of the boys had any interest whatsoever in the subject. The rest of them were, strictly speaking, mostly interested in _her_.

When she had assisted Septima in the class, the adoring – or rather lustful – looks had followed her around the classroom, and whispers spread in the room whenever the students were working on a task. _Why, oh why, when she finally got some attention from the opposite sex, WHY did it have to be from adolescent wizards? Why couldn't a young, adult, handsome wizard with a brain show her this kind of attention?_

Her Arithmancy Mistress was well aware of the situation.

"It's not something I've ever experienced myself, Hermione," the older woman had said calmly. "You yourself have more experience in fending off fans than I have. I believe the best way to go about it would be to stay fair, strict and not put up with any nonsense. The only teacher here who could give you any advice on fans in class would be Severus, though I hardly think he changed anything after the war in the way he handles his classes."

At that, Hermione had snorted out loud. To Septima, she said: "I don't think Professor Snape has ever had any trouble with his students. He's … well, more than a little scary as a teacher. No one would be stupid enough to put a toe out of line in his class."

At that, Septima had almost giggled, as she replied: "Why don't you find your inner Severus, then, and channel him in your lesson."

The two of them had burst into laughter, and Hermione almost had to wipe her eyes. Still, ten minutes later, only moments before she had to unlock the door to let her students into the classroom, her insecurity was rearing its ugly head. _She might be brilliant, but this was also a social situation where she had to handle people. And that… well, to be fair, she wasn’t really a people person who could charm a crowd easily._

It was only a small relief that Septima would be in the adjoining office. Hermione had to handle whatever happened by herself, or else the rumour about her being a pushover teacher would spread quickly. Suddenly, she felt like it actually might be a good idea to take a leaf out of Professor Snape's book, scaring the students into submission. _She might not be have the effortless ability to command people's attention like Harry, but she could do bossy._

She closed her eyes, taking another deep breath and flicked her wand to open the door.

The mass of students pushed in, a gaggle of boys jostling forward, pushing the other students out of their way to get the front seats.

As her sense of unease grew, seeing the boys’ excited grins, eyes slowly and not-so-discreetly rowing over her, she realized: _Merlin. I hate this_ , _though it would be much easier if only the students cared for the subject._

Forcing herself to stare impassively at her students as they slowly found their seats, she checked the time, seeing that precious minutes were ticking by. Suddenly, struck by inspiration – _what would Professor Snape do?_ \- she slashed her wand to make the door slam shut, leaving three surprised stragglers outside in the corridor.

"Five points from Hufflepuff for sheer failure to show up in due time," she said quietly, making the class fall silent, gaping at her.

Then one of the front row boys shot a hand up, waving.

"Yes, Mr. Debennon?" she said, pointing at him.

"Are you a real teacher, Miss Granger? Are you allowed to dock points?" The little rascal had the audacity to wink at her, before he continued: "Because, you look so young, and so _very_ **very** nice, Miss Granger."

His buddies sniggered, while the girls, forced to the back of the classroom, rolled their eyes ostentatiously.

"Believe me, I can both dock points and assign detentions, "she replied tonelessly, staring down the boy as well as she could manage. Inside, an abnormally cheery voice in her mind chanted: _Dock points, dock lots of points, that's what Snape would have done!_

The boy's grin disappeared quickly, as she continued: "And ten points from Ravenclaw for pure lack of attention. You should have listened to the Headmistress' introduction at the welcoming feast, where she explained my privileges. As an Arithmancer, you'll find that a good memory is important when you are to determine your factors for the equations, Mr. Debennon."

After that, the class was quiet, though the first row boys were shuffling, whispering a little between themselves as usual. Hermione, on the other hand, felt a twinge of guilt for pretending to be such a grump.

Xxxx

Monday evening found her discussing her master thesis with Vector and McGonagall. The fire crackled in the fireplace, and they had drawn their chairs into a half-circle around the stone fireplace in the staff room. McGonagall nursed a tumbler of that dreadful Firewhisky brewed by her brother, smacking her lips loudly after each sip. After spending almost the entire day in the library reading up on advanced Arithmancy theories and doing equations on her own, Hermione luxuriated in curling up into the deep, wingback chair, Butterbeer in hand.

Thankfully, Francis Heron was on patrol, and she could relax without him breathing down her neck. And finally, she could eat and drink at the Head table without her stomach knotting up in fear of love potions: Snape was back after another weekend away from Hogwarts, and she had had a full, English breakfast, a solid lunch meal and a nice supper, while she had spent the weekend nibbling on crackers in her room. She felt happy and relaxed.

"There are so many opportunities I want to explore," she sighed contentedly, enjoying the sheer possibilities of her future research. "Predicting politics, practical things like the rate of re-offenses after Azkaban, the likelihood of Muggleborn births and Squibs and a way to determine the magical ability of a child based on the parents abilities, the future outcome of the Death Eater resurgence, and…"

Septima smiled at her. "I know, and I can imagine you being hard pressed to choose, what with your wide field of interests," her Mistress said kindly. "You should talk to Poppy if you'd want to pursue anything relating to magical health issues. She knows a lot about this field." Furrowing her brow, she remarked: "Minevra, I can't recall seeing Poppy at all today. Or yesterday. Is she away?"

Minerva nodded, her eyes a little unfocused due to the strength of her dreadful whisky. "It's very odd, but she must be. Poppy is always so very thorough, and this time she's gone off without notifying anyone. I suppose it's a family emergency, I know her father has been gravely ill for a while."

They stared at the fireplace for a while, until the Headmistress cleared her throat, continuing their discussion of Hermione's thesis: "Do take care, Hermione. If your emotions are too much invested in your project, your equations are likely to be faulty. This is a danger for the typically impetuous Gryffindor in Arithmancy, and it's incidentally also the reason why most renowned Arithmancers are from Ravenclaw or Slytherin. Cool logic, you know. But I'm sure that you'll prove that otherwise, Hermione, with your talents." Minerva beamed at her, both pride of their house and her deep faith in Hermione shining through. Hermione suddenly felt her throat catch, and her eyes burning. _Such faith in her… it felt so good. She'd want to prove anything to be worthy of that kind of faith._

"It doesn't matter," a deep voice drawled behind her. Snape was standing there in his immaculate black, right behind her chair, and she had to twist to look up at him. He looked down into her face with an unreadable expression. "You, Miss Granger, set too much store on emotions, and by that you'll forget important factors. Your feelings will cloud your judgement, and make your predictions flawed. You need to be more level headed, assessing the factors with more detachment, seeing the whole picture to avoid being biased. And, as a female Gryffindor, you're almost bound to fail in this."

"Now listen, Severus," Septima started angrily, while Minerva hiccuped with an irritated frown.

But Hermione was not to be bowled over by his derision. _To pull that card - her sex? Did the man live in the year 1899 instead of 1999?_ No matter what she did, this wizard infuriatingly enough managed to keep her on her toes, like she was still a school girl. She wouldn't stand for this, anymore, not way – and then she realized he was pulling her leg. His eyes glinted deviously, and she could almost see the corners of his mouth quirking in amusement.

Still feeling irritated, she narrowed her eyes at him, saying as cool and aloof as she managed: "What an extraordinary idea, Professor Snape. I didn't know the wizarding world kept to such arcane ideas of the sexes. And, I believe, Muggle research shows that you cannot escape your pre-understanding when interpreting or assessing a situation. Therefore, it is obviously a faulty premise to believe that cool logic alone will lead to sound predictions. But I believe this is an interesting research question. If Septima agrees, I would like my master thesis to focus on how to determine the importance of feelings when making predictions, and analyzing how emotions might influence the choice of factors – or not."

She was rewarded with a brief, impressed look in Snape's dark eyes, and he tipped his head. "This would be very useful, though it is a highly theoretical research question, Miss Granger. I will enjoy reading your thesis - if you ever finish."

By that he withdrew, nearly missing her annoyed snort - _as if she would fail? -_ and Minerva muttered slurredly: “Don’t mind Severus. He likes to be a prick, at times.” 

Septima, however, beamed at her, saying: "Your idea has merit, Hermione. We'll talk about this, I'm sure we can make this work!"

Xxxx

The news was horrendous. They always were, to some extent, but today it was worse than usual. Hermione felt bile in her throat, and she mechanically chewed her toast as she made herself read every, single sentence.

_Death Eaters might have blown up Muggle church in York during Sunday service, 11 killed and 42 injured. Religious Muggle leaders believe the entity "Satan" to be behind the attack, as Muggle Television broadcasted a diffuse picture of smoke from the burning church, slightly resembling the Dark Mark crowning the sky. Minister of Magic Croaker says people shouldn't panic, as there are no conclusive reports on Death Eater involvement from the Auror Office. However, Auror sources say resources are redirected from investigating Death Eater activities to regular police work to meet public demands of solving magical crime and thefts, on the order of the Minister himself. Head of Auror Office, Mr. Shacklebolt, refuses to comment, saying: - If people choose to believe that, it won't change anything as Auror priorities are not up to public discussion._

Sighing, she wondered: _Would it ever end?_ Taking a quick look around, she saw her colleagues were quiet and worried too, but Poppy was still missing, she noted. Yesterday, at the morning staff meeting, Minerva had informed them all that the school matron was away. The Headmistress had said she wasn't quite sure yet as to how long Poppy would be gone, and Head of Houses were required to treat any smaller injuries and pains in the meantime. As Filius and Pomona groaned, Snape rolled his eyes and Hagrid snorted, Minerva had amended: "You might ask for help from the House Elves if it proves to be too much." But the worry in Minerva's eyes had been unnerving. It was clear that she still didn't know why Poppy had left. Hermione sighed, turning back to the awful news.

Beside her, Snape was munching on his toast, making a crunching sound as he bit through the crust. She stole a glance at him, but he looked as unfazed as always, reading the piece in the paper. _Why wasn't he more worried? If she was the top target, he had to at least make it in the top five too, being the great traitor to the Death Eaters' cause. Did he believe himself so powerful that he would be safe, or did he think his former brethren wouldn't attack him? Was it possible that he had an agreement with them…?_ She stopped herself short. She would NOT speculate on this. In her eyes, Severus Snape would be innocent until proven otherwise. _He was a hero, too._

Xxxx

Severus followed Granger out of the Great Hall after lunch, strolling leisurely as he had a free period. She was walking like she didn't notice her surroundings, head down, muttering to herself. From the snatches he heard, it had to be variations on possible research questions for her thesis. But he was more interested in watching her pert little bottom, wriggling underneath her tight pencil skirt. Yes, he'd read her thesis, with great relish too, he supposed, but for the moment, that interesting sway of her hips was enough to keep his mind busy. Though he should really concentrate, finding a way to thwart her spying activities. _He had his own agenda, and …_

From the corner of his eyes, he noted a gang of Ravenclaw seventh year boys staring at her – _no, ogling her_ – and whispering between themselves in the hallway. She paid them no attention, but his finely honed instincts, sharpened by his too-long teaching experience, told him that the boys were up to something.

Suddenly, one of them, a burly looking boy named Melvin Dovirum – _good potioneer, did quality work in his NEWT-class_ – snuck up behind her, groping her tight little arse, stroking along her butt cheeks, giving her a hard pinch.

His breath caught – _the little bastard, trying to intimidate her, to make her feel bothered_ ... He almost moved forward, but stopped himself. _Granger could hold her own. If not, she wasn't cut out for teaching. Or life in general._

She spun around, quickly drawing her wand, pinning it at the little wretch's throat, growling threateningly at him: "What was that, Mr. Dovirum? Did you suddenly think that all women were free to grab, pinch and harass? I'm very sorry to shatter your illusions, but you need to ask before you try to fondle a girl. And the answer is no, which you'll surely experience more often than not!"

The last sentence came out as a bark, and she lowered her wand, turning half away, before she suddenly twisted back, confronting the boy again, saying in an almost normal tone, though he could only describe the expression in her brown eyes as tantalizingly _vicious_ : "Oh, and your detention will be served with Filch. You'll clean all the drains of the public bathrooms, on all the floors, no matter how much time you'll use on this task. Without magic. I hope after the next two weeks, you'll have had ample time to reconsider the way you approach witches – of all ages."

The boys gaped at her, and she stalked down the corridor, her hair bristling like she was a very angry cat. Severus had to admit to himself: _He was impressed_. This was, simply put, good retribution, and he felt certain those boys wouldn't bother her again. Briefly, he wondered just how many suitors and lovesick fools had troubled her after the war. If people approached _him_ , surely Granger as an attractive young witch would be overrun with love letters. Though after witnessing this, he was sure she was more than equipped to defend herself. 

Bearing down on the boys, he barked at them: "Don't you have classes to attend? Run along, you imbeciles, and try not to accost anyone else on your way. You seem to need a chaperone as you're clearly not fit to be left on your own. Ten points from Ravenclaw – each!"

Swooping by them, he grinned to himself as one of them muttered: "Damn. That Granger, she's almost as bad as Snape. But still, she's not even close."

Lengthening his stride, he caught up with her quickly. Leaning down to her ear, he said in a low voice: "Well done, Granger. Rumour has it you scared your fifth year Arithmancy class into blessed silence after a few minutes, too."

Looking surprised, she grinned toothily at him. "I had inspiration. From one of my own teachers."

He arched an eyebrow at her, replying with amusement: "Say no more, Granger." He had, indeed, heard quite enough in the staff room on who she was trying to impersonate. Septima practically rolled on the floor, laughing each time she recounted Granger's teaching methods. Though, he had to admit, he hadn't thought she'd be quite that effective. _He should probably interpret this as some sort of twisted compliment._

Then she frowned: "What happened to ‘Miss’, Professor?"

Severus blinked. _What had happened - why had he addressed her so informally? Well, his slip up could be useful, couldn’t it?_

He put a hand between her shoulder blades, letting it rest lightly on her back: "We're almost colleagues now, Granger. A tad more informal address might be in place for me. For you, however, I'll be a Professor until you hold that title yourself, Granger."

She furrowed her brows in consternation, and – _he couldn't help himself_ – he let his hand slip down her back, for a very brief moment letting it rest on the small of her back, before he turned to walk in another direction.

Upon reaching his office, he shut the door behind him with a bang, automatically warding it.

He leaned on his desk, staring into space for a moment. _Merlin, he actually, really wanted her_. He wanted to touch her, feel the heat from her body. Throwing himself down into his chair, he felt his cock stir. _Gods, that one time in the shower hadn't been the only time he'd wanked with her in mind_. She was fast becoming a staple in his erotic fantasies. And now, he had gone so far as touching her in real life too, not being able to stop himself. _He was only marginally better than those boys._

Groaning, he released his cock, remembering the swell of her hips and her narrow waist. _She had shivered a little as he had stroked her back. Was that because she enjoyed it, or was she disgusted by him?_ It might be because he was her disagreeable former teacher, the greasy dungeon bat, the evil Death Eater, or it might be because she wanted his touch too. Right now, he was very sure what he _wanted_ her to think.

_She would moan, gasp and beg him to touch her. He would mold his body into hers, pull up her tight pencil skirt, moving his hands between her thighs, feeling her wetness, probing her pussy with his fingers, feeling how slick she was for him, lift her up and press her against the wall, moving her knickers aside as he pushed into her…_

Furiously tugging at his aching cock, he lost himself in his fantasy. His jaw was slack, and his eyes were far away, in a place where Hermione Granger screamed his name in ecstasy, her cunt squeezing him as he ravished her, taking her hard up against the wall, bending his knees to get his thrusts deep enough, filling her up with his throbbing cock.

With a grunt, he came, spurting long shots of creamy fluid, splattering his hands and his stomach with thick, ropey strands. Panting, he cleaned himself up with a shaky Tergeo, dressing himself quickly. _Gods, it was almost time to prepare the classroom for his sixth year Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw Potion class. Wanking between classes like a fifth year student, it was pathetic, not something that a wizard fast approaching forty should be doing. And all for the young, delectable, too-smart witch that didn't even like him, she merely sought him out to spy on him._

Resentment bubbled in him, and though it was inadvisable, he wanted nothing but getting back at her for his humiliating, unrequited desire. _Today, he'd take the bull by its horns. Those sixth year buggers would be brewing Amortentia. After this, the risk of getting food spiked with a love potion would be considerably higher._

Xxxx

Granger’s teaching was still the talk of the staff room – of course, whenever she wasn't present. He enjoyed sitting in his chair, listening to his colleagues gossiping.

"And, my seventh years asked me, and they were trembling – I say, _trembling_ –" Septima shrieked, face glowing due to the half a bottle of Port she had downed, "asking when Miss Granger would be in training for their level. And when I told them she isn't due for the seventh year Arithmancy class until next year, they were so relieved, knowing that they'd escape her! She's really put them on their toes!"

"Hear, hear," Rolanda said, "I was never worried she wouldn't handle the classes."

Filius Flitwick snorted, saying: "After what I heard from my Ravenclaws, she's quite scary. Did you know, Severus, some of them actually asked if she had taken lessons from you before starting to teach?"

He arched his eyebrows, and said: "I suppose Granger merely decided to be firm with the students. I look forward to assessing her when she'll be in my classes. I'll have her cover seventh year classes in both Defense and Potions."

Septima hooted with laughter. "Severus, you just made that up right now, after I told how frightened they were! Now the seventh years will get a full Granger experience anyway. I can't believe you – this is so funny!"

Filius giggled slightly, and asked: "When will this take place?"

Septima said: "Oh, she'll do Defense and Potions with Severus in October and November. She'll be in your Charms class in January, Filius."

Filius raised a very bushy eyebrow. "Only you, Severus? What about Francis and Cato?"

"Too little teaching experience," Septima hissed, voice very low. "Severus is the logical choice. Those other two, they're more interested in getting into her knickers."

Severus shifted, a little uncomfortably in his chair. _Thank Merlin, Septima had no idea of who had the starring role in his sexual fantasies for the time being._

"Poor Hermione, she'll never know what hit her when you're responsible for her practical training," Filius laughed heartily. "But I guess you have everything under control, Severus."

"Don't worry," he said, smiling slightly. "I have a good plan."

Xxxx

Minerva hobbled into the staff room, and her quarry was, for once, chatting amiably with other members of the staff. She almost felt bad about disturbing him, but this was too important.

"Severus, I'd like a word with you," she said impatiently.

His eyebrows rose, and she knew what he was thinking. He obviously believed the castle had acted up again, and no wonder, with the infuriatingly little slights the damned thing seemed to give her all the time.

He followed her out in the hallway, and she pointed to an unused classroom, warding the door behind them.

Severus loomed over her, as always clad in his midnight black robes with his perpetual scowl in place. Still, he took an apparently relaxed stance with his hands clasped behind his back, but he wasn't fooling her. Minerva knew he was ready to fight in an instant, he always was, and always had been for as long as she had known him.

Bluntly, she said: "Poppy is missing. She's been gone for four days, and at first, I thought it was a family emergency. I contacted her sister today, as I haven't heard anything. Severus, her sister said Poppy isn't there, and everything is as good as to be expected with their father. Do you have any contacts, any way of finding information if this is a worst case scenario?"

To his credit, the man blanched, but he slowly shook his head, strands of his hair swinging slowly about his face. "I'm afraid not, Minerva, I'm not on speaking terms with anyone who's not openly reformed. In any case, I can always ask around at the Malfoys, Rowles or Selwyns, but I highly doubt they would know anything either. They rather make a point of staying out of trouble. You have told the Ministry, I suppose?"

"Yes," she hissed, "but they're not helping. There's no danger, you know!" Her voice twisted into an ugly, mocking tone, but she would not feel bad for slighting the Ministry, not when one of her staff members was missing. _The Ministry was, after all,_ **_idiots_** _. That Gawain Robarts at the Head of the Department of Law Enforcement_ ... She just couldn't see why he was allowed to continue on after his facedown groveling during Voldemort's reign. _Poor Kingsley, being forced to work for that kind of boss._

Severus shook his head, face grim in a way that made her shiver. "That's where they're wrong, Minerva. Oh, so very wrong."


	5. Drinking with the Staff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He turned to look at her, and suddenly, awkwardly, she found her head only inches away from his. For a moment, she felt like she'd drown in his black eyes, before she wrenched her gaze away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: We're in for a darker turn. This chapter have non-graphic mentions of torture and rape.

**_The Daily Prophet, 24 September:_ **

_Head of Auror Office, Kingley Shacklebolt, refuses to comment on Auror priorities to not go after the Death Eaters. – That's because he wildly disagrees with the Minister, says a Ministry source close to the war hero. – Shacklebolt is in favour of more decisive measures, but the Minister is holding him back._

_– Not true, denies spokeswitch Marigold Lebennon on behalf of the Minister. – The Minister always listens to advice from the Auror Office. He has a great deal of respect for Mr. Shacklebolt and his Aurors._

* * *

It was Friday, and she was battered into going to Hogsmeade with the professors not on patrol. Hooch, Sinistra, Byror, Sprout, Heron and Gewerryn seemed to be in need of drinks - _a lot of drinks_. The Three Broomsticks was filled up with people having after-work drinks. Steam from the wet robes of patrons surprised by the sudden deluge outside spiralled in slow tendrils towards the low ceiling, the roaring heat of the fireplace countering the dampness from outside. The Hogwarts staff had a long table to themselves at the back, and most of them nursed different sorts of hard liquor.

"Gods, those fifth years!" Marius Gewerryn hid his thin, pale face in his hands, scrubbing his eyes, before downing yet another glass of Firewhisky.

"I know," Aurora Sinistra harrumphed. "That's always the worst year. At fifteen, hormones are raging, they think they know everything, they hate themselves, their love life or their lack of it causes conflicts, they cry, scuffle and hold little wars – and they are not even remotely interested in school."

"Tell me about it!" Marius groaned. "I had three girls crying in my classroom today, and two boys were fighting. The boys, by the way, Hermione, were fighting over _you_."

She grimaced, shuddering at the thought of those lovesick boys, _children_ , really. "I don't know what to say about that," she murmured, wavering between irritation and embarrassment.

"To top that up, one of the girls was crying about Snape," Marius continued, looking disgusted.

Cato Byror and Francis Heron roared with laughter. "How come they do that?" Cato snorted. "He's not handsome and not particularly nice to anyone."

Francis rolled his eyes, and said: "Merlin, he's a vile piece of shit, isn't he? I never believed his story of being a double spy. In my opinion, he was a turncoat all the time. And now, he's gone almost every weekend. Where is he, if not doing something awful in secret? He'll leave the castle tonight or tomorrow at the latest, and I bet he won't be back until Sunday. Mark my words, come Monday, the Prophet will be full of another Death Eater attack!"

"Now hold on!" Rolanda Hooch, Aurora Sinistra and Pomona Sprout said almost simultaneously, glaring at Heron.

"Severus is one of us, and it was vital that everyone believed him to be a Death Eater," Rolanda continued angrily. "You should be ashamed of yourself!"

For a moment, the silence was very uncomfortable, and Heron thinned his lips, looking defiantly away. Then Gewerryn said placatingly: "Be that as it may, but still, I don't profess to understand what all those young girls see in him." Turning to look playfully at Hermione, he said: "However, _you_ are a young woman, Hermione. Will you enlighten me by explaining what the girls see in Severus?"

She gaped at him, fidgeting a little on her chair, drumming her fingers on her half-empty pint of porter. _What was attractive about Severus Snape? His torso_? She almost blushed, remembering that lean upper body of his, looking so good in the dim light of his office. _No, she could never say that out loud to her colleagues._ His brilliant mind, maybe, if she had to offer up something, or his considerable power and strength. But she was quite sure, those girls weren't all that interested in his intelligence. 

"Well," she said slowly, "I'm not really sure. But if I had to make a guess, it would be his status as a romantic hero, more than his looks. He did all this for the love of Harry's mum, and that's something a lot of witches would find incredibly romantic." Seeing the other staff members nod, she suddenly questioned herself. _Had she wronged him by disparaging his looks?_ He was, by no means, a traditionally handsome man. But he was tall, with broad shoulders, striking dark eyes, an overwhelming presence, and – she suddenly realized – she enjoyed looking at his hands. _And that voice, she could listen to him all day_. Clearing her throat, she added: "He does have a very nice voice, though."

That made several of her colleagues blink, and she felt herself fighting a blush.

After a brief moment, Rolanda clinked her glass to Hermione's, making the Firewhisky slosh over the rim of the glass, saying decisively: "You're damn right, girl! Severus isn't all that bad, and you guys," she pointed in turn to Gewerryn, Byror and Heron, "are only jealous because he's getting some and you're _not_."

Rolanda grinned deviously at the group of male teachers, and joined in the laughter with Pomona and Aurora. Gewerryn looked a little disgruntled, but Cato Byror rolled his eyes, and Francis Heron looked amused. 

Hermione put up a shaky smile, downing her butterbeer, but all the while she thought: _I must be batty. I might actually think that Professor Snape is attractive. This is really silly, not to mention scary. What if he finds out?_

Xxxx

An insistent knocking on his door drove him out of his concentration. Bent over a bubbling cauldron in his private lab, he had been experimenting with a potion for detecting Amortentia. His sixth years had taken to the potion like ducks to water – to the point where he had been worried for his own safety. Growling, he put his experiment in stasis, answering his door, as he brushed sweaty strands of hair away from his face.

"Yes," he said tiredly, "what is it?" Minerva was on the outside, and she was pale and trembling.

"Gods, Severus," she said, almost sobbing, "it's Poppy. Please come to the Hospital Wing at once."

The Hospital Wing was dark, and only a single candle lit up a bed at the very end of the room. A small, shivering figure, huddled into a ball on the bed, was the sole occupant of the room.

"Thank Merlin there were no students here," Minerva whispered. "I need you to help her. Filch found her at the gates, just curled up like this. She won't tell me what's wrong, and she won't tell me where it hurts or what happened."

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Severus rather thought he knew what had happened. _Why Poppy Pomfrey?_ he thought, nausea roiling in his gut. 

_She had always been kind to him during his schooldays, patching him up after his scuffles with the Marauders and other students, never giving him reproach when she treated those who had been on the wrong side of his wand. She had been a good colleague too, friendly, even to an extent during his tenure as the Death Eater Headmaster. The matron had patched him up like usual after fights and accidents in the Dark Lord's service, telling him that her Hippocratic Oath didn't allow her to discern between people, as all people were equally deserving of her help. To her, it hadn't mattered that he was immersed in his role as the Death Eater, the harsh Headmaster who let the Cruciatus be a tool for punishment in his school._

He sighed, and said softly to Minerva: "If this is what I believe and what you fear, the best thing will be for me to use Legilimency on her, seeing the injuries and what happened to her through her mind. To make her say it out loud may be troublesome, if not impossible. Let me try, and then we'll call the Aurors. A pack of loud Aurors barging in to interrogate her will do more harm than good. You should, however, prepare to alert St. Mungo's. She'll need professional help."

Minerva's bottom lip quivered, and she turned quickly away, stuffing her hand to her mouth to strangle the sobs threatening to break out. Breathing heavily into her fist, she tried to compose herself, and in that moment, Severus felt all his respect and regard for the tough, proper witch blossom in his chest. Like himself, Minerva would always do what she thought was right, no matter the cost to herself. Still, the old witch really cared for her colleagues. It rarely came through, but when it did, it always made an impact on him. Swallowing heavily, he reached out a hand, patting her arm awkwardly.

"Oh, Severus," a low wail escaped the Headmistress. "Why would anyone do such a thing to Poppy? She is the nicest, friendliest, most helpful witch!"

"I don't know, but we'll find out," he said darkly.

Stepping up to the bed, he rested his hand lightly on Poppy's shoulder.

The witch whimpered, eyes squeezing shut, babbling: "Please, don't, not again, please, it hurts, don't, please, I can't, please, don't hurt me, please, I don't want to, please, let me go, mama, help me…"

He winced, looking at McGonagall standing in the shadows a few metres away from the bed, their eyes sharing the pain of what had probably happened to their colleague, their friend. Conjuring himself a chair, he sat down heavily beside the bed. "Poppy, it's me, Severus," he said, making his voice as gentle as it could go. The witch only trembled in response, trying to curl herself into a tighter ball. He continued: "You're safe at Hogwarts, now. No one will hurt you. I can tell you've been through terrible things, and I promise we'll help you."

"No," the witch muttered, "I can't tell, I can't say, it's not, don't make me!"

"Whatever they did to you or made you do, Poppy, you're free now. Hogwarts will protect you," he said, giving a solemn nod to her. "You don't have to say it out loud, if you'll let me into your mind. Your memories will show me," he said quietly, bracing himself for what he knew he would see. _His brethren would have done what they always did._

Slowly, the small witch opened her tear-swollen eyes, and he said softly: " _Legilimens_."

He was transported into a mind that should have been bright and cheery, but it was not. Everything was grey and black, with strange things slinking through the shadows. An overwhelming feeling of sadness, hurt, humiliation and fear was layered through it all, and he travelled into the shadows to see what he would find, letting the memories spin in front of his eyes.

She had been captured in Hogsmeade, roughly grabbed and Apparated to a large, run-down house. Severus winced, recognizing this to be the ruins of the Prince estate. _Incriminating_ , he thought angrily, despite the fact he didn't own the thing or had never even been invited there by his mother's family. His late uncle had been a die-hard Death Eater, dying childless around the time Severus himself had joined the Dark Lord. 

Angrily, his eyes searched Poppy’s memory for anyone he knew underneath the shadowy cloaks and masks. With a sigh, he recognized Antonin and Rabastan, both swaggering towards the witch and her captors.

"What have we here?" Antonin called out. "A new toy? I hope she's young and voluptuous!"

"Even better!" one of the wizards holding the matron shouted raucously. "It's a Hogwarts staff member!"

Jeering and catcalls broke out in the hall, and Severus could see that more than fifty Death Eaters were present, both males and females.

"Oooh," Rabastan laughed wickedly, "I know someone who'll be pleased to send such a message to the so-called Order and that bint McGonagall. Come on, witches and wizards, let's make our leader proud, let’s do what he would have done if he was here, in the memory of the Dark Lord!"

Xxxx

After what felt like hours, but in reality was no more than twenty minutes fast-tracking through what had been days of pain, he retreated from Poppy's mind, seeing Minerva still standing ramrod straight in the shadows. He grimaced, rubbing his tired eyes, and set a Bubble of Silence around Poppy, protecting her from his words. Then he said crisply to Minerva: "She's severely hurt, having been tortured for six days without food or water."

"Cruciatus?" Minerva whispered, and he nodded, feeling sorry for what he had to tell her.

Clearing his throat, he continued: "And not only that. Minerva, she's been raped, repeatedly, by several men and objects, in every orifice." A gasp of horror came from the old witch, but he continued, ruthlessly: "She'll need St. Mungo's for sure. But the worst part is that they've Obliviated parts of her mind. Not what they did, mind you, but happy memories, mimicking a Dementor effect."

The old Headmistress nodded, mouth thinning, and she choked out: "I'll Summon St. Mungo through the Floo immediately." She seemed so frail, so sunken, as she hurried away towards the fireplace in Poppy's office, but he could still hear muffled sobs.

Sighing, he looked at the small, broken frame of what once was Poppy Pomfrey. He suspected she'd never recover fully from her memory loss, as it was notoriously difficult to reverse Memory Charms. And this, the downright mean, clever and evil Obliviate, simply _reeked_ of Lucius. He hadn't spotted the man in the throng, but he might easily have been there, as the memories were jumbled, broken, disconnected and partly repressed. _The next time he saw the man, he'd punish him._ Lucius very well knew Severus both liked and respected Poppy Pomfrey, and he should have known he wouldn't take her torture and abuse in his stride. _On top of it all, incriminating Severus like this by holding the session in the Prince estate! His blonde friend was in for a treatment that would make his hair curl_ , he swore darkly to himself. _They all were - Severus wouldn’t let this pass._

Xxxx

Hours later, as they left the pub, Francis slung his arms around her shoulder as the group of teachers were walking back to the castle. It had ended up much more fun and friendly than she had expected, and it was surprisingly easy to be drinking with her former teachers. But, as her state of mind had become more and more befuddled, she found herself scanning the pub. _Sweet Morgana, she felt flushed, horny and just about ready for some action._ She very rarely - _or rather never -_ felt like going on the prowl, but the Three Broomsticks had been disappointingly free from hot, young wizards tonight.

Turning to Francis, she furrowed her brows. A sleazy, twenty-four year older colleague wasn't exactly what she had in mind. _She wanted someone younger. Someone smarter, someone attractive. Someone who could keep up with her thought processes._

He slurred at her: "Ermione, y' re a nice girl, y' know that? 'ery hot, 'ery smart. I wanna know you better. Join me fo' a quick nightcap, wi' you?" He winked outrageously at her.

She shook her head, freeing herself from his grasp. "No thanks, I'm rather tired," she said, stumbling a little on her feet, moving over to Rolanda instead. _Ok, she was drunk. And yes, it would be nice to get laid, to try having sex again, hoping for a better experience. But Francis Heron was just not her kind of man._ Squinting at both Marius and Cato, she ruled them out too. Cato was full of himself too, and Marius far too old at fifty-seven, even though he was nice, not like those other two.

 _Maybe_ , her insidious drunken self said, trying to convince her, _maybe it doesn't matter if Heron or Byror thinks too much of themselves, it could just be physical, a fling, nothing more. Just like it had been with her co-worker in the Ministry, after that Friday night bar-hopping event. The sex had been marginally better than with Ron, but still…_

Shaking her head, she knew it was the alcohol talking. Those wizards were too unpalatable, it would make a mess out of work relations, and she'd rather have a go at Professor Snape. The thought made her giggle soundlessly as they walked towards the castle. _That would be the day!_ She chuckled as she imagined his shocked frown and displeasure if she had tried to come on to him. _Seriously, she didn't have a death wish_. 

Instead, she vowed to herself that she'd go down into Hogsmeade by herself. It would be nice to meet someone, someone who was not a colleague and not a schoolboy. There hadn't really been anyone but that night or two with her colleague after the break-up with Ron.

She nodded knowingly at Rolanda, though, when they both noticed that Marius and Aurora now were holding hands, holding each other’s gaze with a small, private smile on their lips.

Xxxx

Hermione entered the staff room just on time, not early like usual, still feeling the effects of her night out. The Hangover Potion had helped, but she was tired and hungry, and she wondered what could be so important as to call a staff meeting at eight o'clock in the morning on a Saturday. Sitting down, she suddenly noticed the room being too quiet. McGonagall stood in front of them, her eyes red-rimmed like she had been crying.

"As we're all here, it is my sad duty to report that Poppy has been subjected to a vicious attack," the Headmistress said, face grave, serious and unforgiving. "Currently, she's in St. Mungo, and we _know_ this attack was made by the Death Eaters."

Gasps ran like a shockwave through the staff, but once again, Hermione noted that Snape seemed to be unsurprised. Shivering, she thought of the matron. She was friendly, strong-willed, but a little reserved, and Hermione had fond memories of her from her long stay in the Infirmary as a cat-girl in the second year.

Minerva continued: "Filch found her last night at the gates, and thanks to help from Severus using Legilimency, we have established what happened to her. I'm afraid to say that it might be a long time before she's back, if ever. She has … undergone severe torture."

"Legilimency?" asked Francis sharply. "Surely she could tell you herself? Have you alerted the Aurors?"

"It stands to reason we've alerted the Ministry," Minerva said, irritation lacing her voice. "And I can tell you as much, Poppy was not in a state to tell us herself last night." The Headmistress sighed, seeming old and careworn, as she shared a glance with Snape. "However, the Auror Office decided that you could be told of the attack as her friends and colleagues and to appraise you of the danger. I would beg you all to take the utmost care, and to immediately report any suspicious activities, and please be careful when you venture outside Hogwarts on your own. However, you are not to tell anyone outside this room. The Aurors seem to think the Death Eaters want publicity, and even though we would like nothing better than to tell everyone the truth, the Ministry has sworn us to secrecy. I hereby invoke the Vow of Silence you've all pledged yourself to."

Minerva darted a quick, questioning glance at Hermione, and she felt herself hitch her breath. _She wasn't a teacher, she hadn't made a Vow of Silence. She could tell anyone_. Returing a tiny, imperceptible nod at Minerva, she saw the flash of satisfaction in the old witch's eyes.

xxxx

The students had been told Madam Pomfrey had fallen gravely ill, and the mood was subdued. The matron was loved by all, having patched up almost everyone sitting in the Great Hall at some point. A few students sniffled, but it was nothing against the faces of the teachers. They were all ashen-faced, many with red-rimmed eyes, some dabbing their eyes politely from time to time, while Hagrid frequently blew his nose in a large handkerchief. 

Though she felt sick, she forced herself to have a toast, washing it down with black tea, though it tasted like ashes in her mouth. 

Blinking back tears, she tried to concentrate on the news, to avoid having her thoughts churn around the horror that had happened to Poppy. 

The Prophet ran a series of presentations of the Death Eaters believed to be on the loose, and grimly, she couldn’t help speculating on who of these awful people had been behind the attack on the matron. Professor Snape was, as usual, sitting beside her, and she noticed he looked at the paper over her shoulder.

"This is all wrong," he pointed out, leaning over. "Rookwood was never a "more civilized" Death Eater, like that bint Skeeter portrays him to be. I believe they try to paint him in a more favourable light because so many people liked him in the Ministry. He would seem to be very friendly and affable, but he's truly vicious, and I suspect his network of informants are still at large. As for the two Mulcibers, I'd say it's positively dangerous to believe what Skeeter says here. They are definitively not stupid or blundering. Both father and son are highly skilled combatants, with excellent strategic skills."

He turned to look at her, and suddenly, awkwardly, she found her head only inches away from his. For a moment, she felt like she'd drown in his black eyes, before she wrenched her gaze away. Still, the scent of him caught her attention. Her eyes closed, and her nostrils widened to catch more of it, a lovely, masculine smell. _Something spicy, a little leather, a whisky note and something like parchment…_

Opening her eyes, sighing, drowning in the enticing scent, she couldn’t help leaning in, looking straight into his eyes again. He stared back, eyes curiously intense. Forcing her mind away from that unexpected sensory overload, she told herself scathingly: _Focus, Granger, focus!_

"Where do you think they're hiding?" she said, eyes now locked on his mouth – _so tantalizing close…_ She shuddered, feeling little goosebumps settling on her arms.

He withdrew from her with a jerky movement, replying curtly: "My best guess is that they're hiding in plain sight. Going Muggle, I presume."

At that, she managed a small chuckle, raising an eyebrow at him: "How that would rankle them!"

"Indeed," he said, looking a little uncomfortable.

Xxxx

When Granger left the Great Hall, he let his eyes follow her slender form as she walked towards the doors. _Had she understood how much he wanted her? To which degree his self-control had been pushed?_ When she had closed her eyes, so obviously inhaling his scent, he had needed to forcibly check himself from kissing those parted lips. But then she had returned to her senses, shuddering, her disgust with him clearly visible. 

Feeling both hurt and angry, he glared at his teacup, like it had offended him grievously. As for where the Death Eaters were hiding, he was not about to tell anyone about them staying in his ancestors' estate. They might not even be there anymore, it would be a sound strategy to move around between different locations.

His musings were interrupted by Filius Flitwick, who commented with a forced lightness: "You're positively chatty after Hermione showed up. I never thought you'd say a word at breakfast before she returned to us."

Severus scowled at his longtime colleague, seeing a faint smirk on his face. _Buggering hell!_ Filius, he knew, was not above starting rumours about him. He did not need his colleagues to believe he was falling hard and fast for Granger. _Because there was absolutely no way that was happening. There was no place for someone like_ **_her_ ** _in his life._

Xxxx

On her way to the library, she wondered: _Who should she tell about the attack on Poppy_? She could invoke her deal with Skeeter, but she was reluctant to push more material into the hands of that woman. Deciding to wait for a while – _she rather wanted to talk to Poppy herself before telling anyone_ – she wrote a letter to Harry, inquiring as to how the investigation of the attack came along.

Xxxx

On his way to his customary weekend trip, he made a stop at Malfoy Manor. The Manor looked once again bright and friendly, more like it had been before the Dark Lord annexed it for his Headquarters, but to Severus' mood, it seemed overly cheery.

"Lucius!" he barked, as he emerged from the Floo, dusting the soot from his coat all over the luxurious, thick Persian carpet in the Malfoy library, striding towards Lucius' chair.

As he had known, Lucius was predictably lounging comfortably in his reading chair, a glass of Glastonbury Apple Liqueur in his hand. The man was well-dressed as always, with silver-lined, black robes, and his hair was again shiny and sleek. He looked _nothing_ like the harried man he had been by the end of the war.

"Severus, what a surprise," Lucius said with a smile, but his expression turned into alarm after taking one look at Severus' face.

"You! Severus snapped, "you lying bastard! Didn't I _tell_ you to lay low?"

"What…?" the blonde man sputtered confusedly.

"I saw Poppy Pomfrey's memories!" Severus spat, jabbing his finger into the sitting man's chest. Lucius leaned back, looking fearful. "First of all, you know she didn't deserve this. For Merlin's sake, she patched up you and Narcissa after the Battle, and she saved Draco a hundred times if she saved him once!"

"I … I…I…" Lucius stuttered, but Severus was on a roll.

"Shut up," he said brutishly, "and second, I've told you to. keep. away. from. that. business! I didn't go through the trouble of supporting your testimony in your trial, creating and implanting all those altered memories as a favour, memories of _you_ and _Narcissa_ and _Draco_ being threatened into submission to comply with the Dark Lord, just to have you joining in a spat of torture for fun at the first opportunity. It's _my_ credibility on the line, such as it is! I can't afford you to cast any shadows of suspicion on me. You _know_ what is at stake here. And having your game of torture in my ancestors' home, no less!"

Lucius looked suitably contrite, but Severus knew him, it was all an act.

"Severus, my friend, I realize the location was somewhat unfortunate..." the Malfoy Patriarch began smoothly.

"Unfortunate? If anyone finds out, you've as good as incriminated me!"

"Ah, you see, Antonin came to see me, and he told me they needed some work with Memory Charms." Lucius' voice was reasonable, like he wasn't talking about the brutal rape and torture of an innocent woman. "Really, Severus, I took great care to not be seen or detected, I swear, only Antonin knew I was there."

Severus snorted. "All of the Circle will know, Lucius. Subtle, devious Obliviates like that are your area of expertise. And Antonin, what was he doing _here_ anyway? I'll deal with him when I find him. You, however, need a reminder to stay on the path, Lucius. This was far, far out of line. Such transgression will not go unpunished."

"No," the man said, blanching,"no…"

Severus raised an eyebrow at him, casting with a vicious tilt of his wand: " _Crucio_."

Xxxx

The day before she was due for training in his classes, Severus witnessed a new attempt to grope her, this time from a gaggle of Hufflepuff sixth years.

Her eyes flashed dangerously at the boys, and she said with an icy calm to the main perpetrator, a big, burly, blond boy, the very epitome of a Quidditch jock: "You will serve your detention with Filch. Your task will be scrubbing the floor of the Great Hall without magic – between meals."

Oddly enough, she gave the boy a little evil grin, continuing: "But the beauty is, you'll have to present a squeaky clean floor to Filch. That means, you'll either have to hurry before dinner, or you'll have to persuade Filch to let you wash the floor at night to get enough undisturbed working hours. Good luck, Mr. Lornington."

Severus had to admit, he was impressed. This was an almost impossible task, due to the size of the Great Hall. This was both hard work and humiliation at the same time, with a likely possibility of having to do the work multiple times due to the short time available between classes and dinner – _this was a way of setting a detention almost worthy of a Death Eater._

Leaving the flabbergasted students behind, she walked in Severus’ direction, skirt swishing around those round hips and that narrow waist, and he blurted out, stupidly, impulsively: "Join me for coffee before your training starts for the Defense class tomorrow. My brew is infinitely better than what the House-Elves believes to be coffee."

Eyes widening, she nodded, her face breaking out into a small grin.

Xxxx

She was bored out of her mind. Cato Byror was sitting beside her at dinner, and he told her fanciful stories of how he had saved a bunch of people with his potion skills. The trouble was, she didn't believe him, after learning he had hid out on his property during the war.

"And then I brewed all night, taking no time to pause, working hard to create an antidote to the poison, and I succeeded. After spooning the antidote into the mouths of the ten poisoned people, they quickly regained their health." He beamed at her, before launching into a new story.

She rolled her eyes, seeing an exasperated look on Snape's face on her other side. Then Snape sniffed his goblet, looking at it with a dubious expression, before his lips curled into a wicked smirk.

"Byror," he said in his deep voice, cutting into the storytelling. "How would you describe the contents of this goblet, in a professional capacity, of course."

Byror took the goblet a little gingerly, and sniffed it. He looked at it, swirled the contents, and dipped a finger into it, then proceeded to put his finger into his mouth. At that, Snape's eyebrows shot almost into his hairline, and he shook his head disgustedly.

"Mmm, it tastes delicious," Cato said, eyeing the goblet greedily. "It makes me feel … I want more."

Snape snatched it hastily back, and said scathingly: "That's enough, Byror, more than enough. Granger, what would I do if a student tasted an unknown brew in class?"

The answer was shockingly easy, and she replied: "They would fail class, and you'd dock points, sir."

"Thank goodness, it's a relief to know some of my colleagues have common sense, even though she's NOT a potioneer," Snape said acerbically, glowering at Byror. "And what do you believe are the contents of this goblet, Byror, considering your _vast_ experience with potions?"

Byror sneered at him, obviously insulted. "A white Elf wine, probably a ten year old Avalon, Snape. Not everyone is as paranoid as you. The war is over, you know."

Snape arched an eyebrow, saying drily: "I know, Byror. I, unlike others, was actually there, remember?" He turned the goblet in his hands, and continued: "This, however, has nothing to do with paranoia, just the fact that I don't find it prudent to lick my fingers to unwittingly taste quite an excellent love potion. If I knew the identity of the student, I'd award them ten points for very solid potion work, before docking a hundred for trying to enchant a teacher."

Byror blanched. "A love potion?"

Hermione felt like laughing, forcing it down as best she could. Byror had it coming, after such a mindless display. _Really, did he think Snape, of all people, would ask him for a second opinion on his wine?_

"Yes," Snape said smugly. "Maybe you'll be able to point out who the brewer is, after tasting it, like the proverbial canary in a mine. Which one of our young, enterprising ladies do you feel an unfounded attraction to, Byror?"

Byror's lips thinned, but he swept his gaze over the student body. After a surprisingly short while, his eyes landed on a pretty, dark-haired Ravenclaw sixth year girl. "That one, with those lovely dark curls, those big, brown misty eyes, the pouty lips, firm breasts and that delicious, little arse…"

"Gods, that's enough, Byror!" Snape exclaimed, looking nauseated. "Have you no self-restraint at all? She's a student! You should go to your quarters until it wears off, or brew an antidote. Surely you're capable of brewing that?"

Snape himself swept off the daise, bearing down on the Ravenclaw table. The girl looked at him with shiny eyes, believing him to be under the potion, but her expression quickly turned to shock, mortification, shame and disappointment. A collective groan from the Ravenclaw table proved that Snape was true to his words, docking points.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Byror slinking out of the Great Hall, but not before casting a look of hatred at Snape. _Never mind, Snape was not one to be intimidated by a little hate_ , she thought. As Snape returned to the Head table, she gave him a small smile, whispering: "Thanks for pegging down Byror. Listening to his stories can be tiresome."

His mouth quirked, before he said with a serious expression: "It does bother me that what he spouts are nothing but stories. Those potions he described, claiming to have invented, would not work. You just can't mix roseworth with doxy eggs and nettles and expect it to be an antidote. He was clearly lying through his teeth."

"I know," she sighed, "and I have no idea how to handle a grown man, a colleague, who lies to my face."

Snape gave her a rare, approving nod, and she felt something tugging in her belly, affecting her. She swallowed, and then he said to her: "He wouldn't have resorted to cock and bull-stories, if he wasn't trying to impress you. But you're not one to believe in fairytales, are you, Granger?"

"No," she said seriously, but with a twinkle in her eyes: "Not when I've seen the real thing."

Xxxx

Late at night, he was in his bed, awake and staring at the ceiling, _again_ , thinking of Granger, _again_ , cock achingly hard, **_again_**. _A part of him was roaring in enthusiastic silliness: The real thing, she said! That means you, both as a potioneer and a war hero! She wants you!_

The more rational part of his mind barked: _You fuckwit! She's not interested in old, grizzled Death Eaters, especially as you tortured her friends during your time as Headmaster, after calling her names throughout her childhood._

He groaned in exasperation. _Why, of why, had his mind and body become so obsessed with Granger? It was entirely inappropriate, him being who he was and what he had to do, and she being who she was._

The insidious, Slytherin part of him whispered: _Maybe you can convince her to fuck you, she is supposedly spying on you anyway, trying to get close to you. You can have your cake and eat it too._ The best part was that Hogwarts had become slightly less boring after her arrival. Still, he had his own plans to execute, and there were still people he had to provide for. _Granger couldn't get in the way of that. His great duty, his responsibility…_ He needed his weekends clear to take care of the people he had saddled himself with.

Sighing, he closed his eyes, hand grabbing his cock. There would be no sleep before he had released that throbbing ache. _Yes, Granger…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I like Madam Pomfrey too. :-(


	6. Public Intrusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She could have been mistaken, but she thought his breath hitched. He looked straight ahead, somewhere over the top of her head, and said, equally gently: "In a way you are right, I told you it was sexual in nature. I apologize for causing you such embarrassment, but I still think this was a useful lesson for the students."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised Loupita a second chapter this week, and here it is! 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy. :-)

**The Daily Prophet, 4 October:**

_– The new leader of the Death Eaters must be a well-known former supporter of You-Know-Who, says an Auror source to the Prophet's reporter Rita Skeeter. – Currently, we have no idea who it might be, but it stands to reason it's a wizard or witch from You-Know-Who's Inner Circle. Someone powerful and able to gather the reins after the loss of their crazy leader. Speculations are rife within the Auror Office, but I'm not at liberty to tell you, the source says, eyes shifty and scared._

* * *

Harry's letter was delivered with the owl post at breakfast. His new tawny owl, named Fred, gave her an affectionate nip, before it took off with her toast. _So, Harry had written his answer at home, not while at work in the Ministry._ Hermione smiled to herself. _Chances were the letter would hold classified information, then, things he wouldn't want to write while at work._ Looking surreptitiously around her, she made sure no one would be able to see the letter as she read it.

_Dear Hermione._

_I have to say, I was surprised, shocked and saddened by your letter. Poor Madam Pomfrey, this is so horrible! No one has told me or Ron about this, so I went to ask Kingsley himself, saying I had heard a rumour from a source at St. Mungo's. Kingsley confirmed it, and he seemed surprised I had found out. But mark my words, Hermione, he was pleased to learn that people had started talking about this incident. As you know, he's not at all happy with the secrecy Robards and Croaker enforces concerning the attacks. He let it slip, that maybe it would be better if the public knew about this, so people would be on the alert. I told him, I'd let my source know… Do what you will with this information, Hermione, but you know I can't talk to anyone outside the Ministry. I hope to see you soon!_

_\- H_

She furrowed her brow. If both McGonagall, as Head of the now dormant Order, and Kingsley, as Head of the Auror Office, wanted her to tell the media about the attack on Madam Pomfrey, she would have to do that, regardless what Poppy might feel. Warning the public was so very important. _Yes, she'd tip off Skeeter, telling her to check out the Janus Thickey ward for a victim of a secret attack._ However, she would not let Skeeter blow her identity as the source _._ Such an admission could put McGonagall on the spot with the Ministry, for not ensuring a total silence from the staff.

Xxxx

Hermione had showed up at the appointed time in Snape’s office, and he was true to his word: The coffee proved to be _delicious_. Hot, strong, with rich flavours, beans perfectly roasted, and of course, the brewing was immaculate. _She had expected no less from a Master Potioneer, though._

The smell of freshly ground beans and the slow dripping of the coffee into the glass container was relaxing, making her feel calm, even in the face of training underneath Severus Snape. He brewed the coffee by hand, weighing up the grounded beans meticulously, just like he would with potion ingredients, before gently pouring the boiling water over the filter, letting it drip slowly. Idly, she noted his office was just as creepy as ever, even though the bright morning sun was shining outside. The bright light did nothing to make the tentacled things and dead creatures in his jars and bottles look any better. 

"Mmmmh," she groaned, burying her nose in the steaming cup. "No wonder I've never seen you drink coffee after dinner before. After this, everything else will be stale, bland and tasteless. Do you always make coffee before classes?"

His mouth quirked a little, and he drawled: "Yes, every day. The House-elves do a decent tea for breakfast, but they have no concept of what coffee should be like whatsoever. I roast the beans myself, twice a week, to get it just right."

Her sigh of pleasure as she took a sip seemed to be enough of a response. Gathering herself, she asked: "What's the plan for the lesson?".

"Shielding and shield breaking techniques," he said curtly. "Even though you are to observe for the next two weeks, I expect you to join me in practical demonstrations."

She nodded, her mind deep into the wondrous scent of the coffee. "What kind of techniques did you have in mind for today?" she said, almost dreamily.

His mouth tugged a little at the corners, and he said: "The _Vir Mulier Scuto_."

Frowning, she looked up from her lovely coffee. "The _Vir Mulier Scuto?_ Isn't that considered having no practical purpose at all?"

He shrugged, still with that faint smile. "I wouldn't say that. The wizard behind the theory did a very thorough study, and he was extremely interested in the practical appliance of magical theory. He didn't, however, share his full theory with the general public."

Blinking a little, she said slowly, a nagging suspicion rising to the forefront of her mind: "I'm not sure I am familiar with the origins of this theory. Who was this wizard?"

He sipped his coffee, eyes closing in bliss for a moment, before he looked straight at her. "The Dark Lord. And I can assure you that this theory has its merits. To apply it may just save your life."

She shivered slightly. _Teaching a theory originating with Voldemort – did that make the theory dark in itself? Or was the theory to be considered neutral?_ She did only know rudiments of it, having never seen or practiced it.

After finishing their coffee, they entered the classroom. They waited in silence, but as Snape raised his wand to unlock the door, she couldn't help asking with a small smile: "Aren't you going to enter the room with a bang?"

"Not today," he said, giving her a fleeting, slightly amused look. "You tagging along behind me would ruin the effect, I presume."

Instead, he slammed the door open with a burst of magic, making the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs standing outside the door jump in fright. Slowly, they filed in, without chattering. Hermione noted that this seventh year class was just as quiet, just as scared of Snape as she remembered from her own schooling before the war. Obviously, he hadn't changed much.

"Apprentice Granger will be joining us for the next month", he said, giving the class his usual, fierce glare. "She'll be assisting me for the next two weeks, before running this class for two weeks after that. You will, all of you, treat her like you would any other teacher."

The class nodded attentively, not saying a word, some of them giving her a guarded look. _That would be,_ she realized, _the friends of those boys she had given detentions._

"We'll cover the _Vir Mulier Scuto_ today," Snape said sternly to the class. "Don't bother with your books, because this theory isn’t covered by your… standard... books. To know the best way to break the shield of a wizard or a witch is a technique that may give you the upper hand in a duel. This theory, because it isn't a spell in itself, just a guideline to improve your attack, states that the shields formed by witches and wizards are fundamentally different. Therefore, you'll need to shape your spells differently to gain the full effect of attacking a shield."

He paused for a moment, black eyes glittering strangely as he looked at Hermione, and continued: "Some say that this way of attacking is sexual in nature. In a way it is, and I expect adolescents such as you to be giggling and blushing by this. But, and I can't stress this enough, to apply this theory to dueling is a lifesaver. Pair up, boys and girls. In the beginning, it makes the most sense to attack and defend against the other sex."

Hermione frowned. _Sexual in nature?_ _She already knew that the shields were supposed to form differently, but had never read that this should affect the way you attacked your opponent. That must be the part Voldemort had kept for himself, information restricted to his Inner Circle._

"Everyone watch!" Snape barked, turning to Hermione. "Apprentice Granger, would you raise a shield? Use a standard _Protego,_ but modify the spell like this: ‘ _Protego Colores’."_

She raised her shield wandlessly and wordlessly, realizing that she was unconsciously showing off. _To the students,_ she reasoned hurriedly, _not to Snape._ She wasn't sure he'd see it that way, though, because he arched an eyebrow at her, but the students gasped. Startled, she noticed that she could _see_ her shield. The shimmering haze surrounding her emitted a light rosy colour.

"The colouring is just for training purposes," Snape drawled. "I would advise strongly against colouring it during a real duel. You'll also notice that each of you will get different colours. No, Miss Prewett, you can’t choose your colour. Now raise your shields, using the _Protego Colores._ "

The class room suddenly looked like a rainbow, as the students' shields erupted in all shades of green, red, blue, yellow, brown, purple, grey, orange and pink. Hermione looked at the awed, smiling faces, and thought: _Maybe this won't be so bad. This is rather beautiful._

Turning to Snape, she was not surprised to see that his shield was his usual, unrelenting black, surrounding him like a smoky haze.

"Enough, drop your shields!" Snape barked. "Now, pay close attention."

He turned to her, and said, his voice silkily, his eyes almost a little hungry as he looked at her: "I apologize in advance, Granger, if this will feel a little … intrusive. Please raise your shield again."

Stepping up to her, he looked up and down her newly formed pink shield, and somehow, she felt his gaze so intimately that it made goosebumps break out on her flesh. "If you look closely," Snape said, "You'll see that in the center, in the _core_ of Granger's shield, there's a seam."

He pointed his wand at her, highlighting a slightly ridged slit on her shield, puckering a little, just like soft, pink, petaled lips. The students gasped, and some sniggered before suddenly clasping their mouth. _No wonder he had said intrusive. It certainly looked like a vagina. And now, she felt like all the class was gawking at her most intimate body part._

Stonily, she stared at him, fighting to not let her embarrassment show. He gave her a faint smirk, but his eyes were still dark and strangely hooded. "This … _structure_ … is how a shield will form when a witch is the caster. It's involuntarily, unavoidable and perfectly natural. As you can see, it makes the perfect point of attack. If I were to force my way inside Granger's shield, I would do wisely to shape my spell into beams. Preferably rather narrow, round, pointed ones that can slide easily inside between those lips." Arching his eyebrow at the class, he drawled: "To put it bluntly, shape it like a cock."

Her lips thinned. _How dare he! At least, he could have prepared her in advance!_ The students stared wide-eyed at them, and some of those horny, little bastards licked their lips slowly as they looked at her. Not one of them dared to snicker, though.

"Let me demonstrate," he said, voice even more silky, as he drew his wand, slowly shaping a thick, long, dark beam, pointing straight at her. Suddenly thrusting it violently at her with a jab of his wand, she flinched as it passed the seam of her shield, entering inside much too easily.

With a flick of his wand, he stopped the beam from moving further towards her, making it stay, pulsing, inside her now invaded shield. Their eyes met, and she felt as if time had suspended itself. Drowning in his black eyes as they darkened even further with something she was afraid to name, she felt slightly dizzy. 

Parting her lips unconsciously, she wet them with the tip of her tongue, and she felt a sudden urge to slowly, lasciviously rub her thighs together to appease the slow, simmering fire burning between her legs. Her nipples grew taut, and she could see his eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and his chest expanded with a deep breath.

Blinking, he dropped the eye-contact, and barked at the class: "Girls, you'll now raise your shields again, and boys, you'll attempt to enter. Do not use any dangerous spells, a _Lumos Trabem_ will suffice."

Suddenly, she was angry, furious at the invasion, raging at him for letting that connection which made her feel so _good_ drop like that. Squinting at him, she dropped her shield, turning to retreat to her desk in the corner of the classroom.

"Come, Granger," he said arrogantly, "join me as we inspect their attempts." Silently snarling, she obediently followed in his wake, as he swooped through the class, criticizing harshly as he was wont to do. Horrified, she realized that he was even worse than she remembered. The boys were ridiculed if their beam wasn't aimed properly or if it wasn’t strong enough to penetrate the shield of their opponent, and the girls were equally taunted if their shield was too weak, letting the wizard in question inside too easily. 

Hermione felt as if her cheeks were burning, matching the red faces of their students. _Sweet Morgana, she would have literally died if Snape had delivered innuendos throughout class when she was still at school._

After a while, he stopped the practice, and asked the class: "Can any of you offer a theory as to what a witch could do to minimize the risk to her shield?"

The class was silent, no one raising their hand. Without looking at her, he said: "Granger. I'm sure you have a theory or two."

She fumed in outraged silence for a moment. _The man had never asked her anything of his own volition when she was in his class, and now, of a sudden, he decided to make her theorize on the spot?_

Despite her irritation and embarrassment, knowledge was knowledge, and she was very much intrigued by the possibilities in this theory.

"I would say, what first comes to mind would be a double shield, making sure the seams are not aligned. It would, however, be too taxing to keep up a double shield in a duel. The second idea would be, as the shield normally is invisible, to rotate it, placing the seams in a different place than expected, perhaps at one’s feet. An even better solution would be to make the shield rotate continuously. Then it would be virtually impossible to find the … seam." She stopped short, catching a quick, impressed look in Snape's black eyes.

"Excellent," he breathed, while nodding to his class. "A rotating shield would be a very effective solution, almost nullifying the effects of the shield's formation. Miss Granger was spot on, finding the exact same solution as the wizard with whom this theory originated."

She blinked in surprise, and Snape, that _infuriating_ man, smirked at her, saying: "Great minds think alike, or what, Miss Granger?"

Her blood pounded furiously in her veins, and she thought she might blow an artery or several blood vessels. _Morgana's tits, he did not just compare her to Voldemort?! How dared he!_

Snape, however, continued, looking unruffled: "We'll practice this in the next class. Now, I'd like Miss Granger to demonstrate how to break the shield of a wizard."

He raised his black shield, and she thought she could see a faint flush on his sallow face, barely noticeable. "I expect you see the point of attack," he said drily, as the students goggled at him.

And, in his front, there it was, a rather large knob with a tiny slit on the top. _Merlin,_ she thought, _it looks exactly like a dickhead. How come she’d never noticed these things before? Maybe,_ a small voice in her head said, _she should have studied harder. If Voldemort could discover this, she was certain she could have done it too._

Feeling almost as embarrassed as when he had pointed out the features of her own shield, she grasped her wand in sweaty hands, hands still shaking with anger.

"You'll find that the best way to break the shield of a wizard is to shape your attack like you would in real life. Give him a good, strong kick right at it," he said. "A notable difference is that a man's shield will disintegrate on the spot, while you can cast _inside_ a woman's shield after you have pierced it."

Hermione blinked, and swallowed a chuckle. _She was about to kick Snape's balls. Almost literally. Oh, how Ron and Harry would have loved this!_

"Which spell would you recommend?" she asked him blithely.

Arching an eyebrow, looking supremely arrogant, he said: "I'm sure you'll think of something, Granger."

_Merlin. He expected her to fail, she just knew it. The bastard!_ Gathering her magic, she opted for blunt force and shot a blindingly " _Expulso!"_ right at him. He winced, and sure enough, his shield disintegrated, the mist covering him dissipating, like a strong gust of wind breaking up a thick fog.

Smiling serenely in deep satisfaction, she waited to see his reaction, but he gave her a perfunctory bow. "Thank you, Granger, for the excellent demonstration. Now, the wizards will raise the shields, while the witches try to break it. Remember, do not use any _too_ dangerous spells."

For the rest of the class, she tagged along with him, correcting the spellwork of the students. When the bell rang, the students started to chatter and giggle as they walked out of the classroom, looking both embarrassed and very relieved to be leaving their Defense class.

She waited for the last one to leave, before she turned to him, hands on her hips. "I would have liked a warning on this subject," she said, trying to muster all her bravery to face the tall, intimidating Slytherin Head. Her heart thumped almost painfully in her chest, but the mix of anger and the memory of the brief, embarrassing arousal fueled her, making her gaze unwavering. 

He had the audacity to smirk at her once again, and said: "And spoil such a wonderful surprise? Actually," his face became serious, "I rather thought you'd be happy to not know, or else you would have been nervous." He lifted a hand, seeing her scowl settling on her face, and continued: "Thank you for participating, though. I've never taught this in a class before, because really, I can't drag a seventh year schoolgirl up here to perform this with me. It would be … inappropriate."

She chewed on her lip, silently agreeing with him. _Any student would have died of shame._ Then she said, deciding to be adult and brave, facing up to her own reactions, even in front of _him_ : "I still feel that it was bordering on very inappropriate." Looking away, feeling the flush raise in her cheeks, she said softly: "It was almost like you … touched me sexually, _taking me,_ in front of everyone."

She could have been mistaken, but she thought his breath hitched. He looked straight ahead, somewhere over the top of her head, and said, equally gently: "In a way you are right, I told you it was sexual in nature. I apologize for causing you such embarrassment, but I still think this was a useful lesson for the students."

She nodded, still flushing. _Morgana, he admitted it. This wasn't just about dueling, it was intimate too. Severus Snape as good as penetrated me, using his magic. He shoved a part of him inside a part of me._ Clearing her throat, banishing all thoughts even remotely reminding her of sex, she said: "I think so too, and you're right, this might save one's life. But still, I'd like a warning, if you're going to do anything like this again while I train under you, no matter how you think I will react."

Xxxx

When she showed up in his office the next morning for coffee, he felt a brief flash of relief. He hadn't driven her away, scared her with the display yesterday. The silence was a bit awkward, though, so he thrust the newest edition of _Potions Quarterly_ into her hand. She sat down in the chair she had used yesterday, leafing through the publication until she found an article of interest, and then _it_ happened again.

Granger leaned back into her chair, hands clutching her mug, inhaling the coffee with closed eyes, an expression of bliss spreading on her face. He watched in rapt attention, wondering if this was how she would look in her afterglow. _She was so beautiful, looking so delightfully content, so satisfied…_ And then she opened her eyes, giving him that languorous smile, and she said: "Excellent, sir."

_Oh yes, this was fuel for his fantasies alright._

Xxxx

Finally, Harry had time for her. They were to meet in Hogsmeade, and she was hurrying through the castle, when the corridor became clogged by milling students. "Move over," she said irritated and bossily, and a third year Hufflepuff squeaked, looking frightened.

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger," the sixth year prefect for Slytherin, Miranda Flint, said as she jostled through the throng.

Hermione glared at her, remembering her nasty, big brother Marcus Flint, but nodded impatiently at her. "Go on, I haven't got all day, Miss Flint."

Miranda Flint blinked, and said hurriedly: "The moving staircase is stuck, it's hanging halfway between landings in the air. I've alerted the Headmistress, Miss Granger."

Hermione groaned. _Gods, she would be late for her meeting with Harry._ She brightened though, when she heard the quick, sure steps of Minerva just behind her.

"What is the matter?" the Headmistress inquired as she neared the throng of students.

"The stairs are stuck, Headmistress," the Slytherin prefect said dutifully. "I called on you to set it right."

Hermione thought that Minerva blanched slightly, and then her eyes narrowed. She walked slowly to the edge of the landing, and Hermione followed close behind. The stairs were indeed hanging suspended in the air, and three second year Ravenclaw boys were sitting morosely in the middle of the stairs, hands around their scabby knees.

"Well," Minerva said hesitantly, "I might need to fix this from my office, it's a part of the wards, you see." She didn't meet Hermione's eyes, and continued stiffly: "Would you stay here to make sure the students are taken care of, Hermione?"

"Of course," Hermione said, and as the Headmistress retreated, she sent out her Patronus to Harry with the message that she was running late. The students around her were whispering excitedly by the sight of her gamboling, silvery otter, and she caught snatches of mutterings: "See how powerful she is? That's a corporeal Patronus! Isn't that amazing?"

They had waited for nearly ten minutes, when Snape came along. He stopped by her at the edge, and drawled: "Whatever is the matter? Are the stairs stuck?"

"Yes," Hermione replied, "Minerva went back to her office to take care of it."

"Very well, she'll soon be finished, I expect," he said, frowning a little at the offending stair. Suddenly, it started moving again, and there was a sigh of relief from the students around her. She was almost _sure_ she had felt a whisper of magic from him, but that could clearly not be the case. It had to be McGonagall's spell. _It was strange, though, she couldn't remember the castle acting up like this under Dumbledore._

One Gryffindor fourth year shouted: "Go McGonagall!" Standing beside her, Snape seemed to be amused, but she didn't have time for him, she had to hurry to get to Harry.

Xxxx

Severus stared at her retreating form, hips swaying, quick feet hurrying along. As she stood beside him on the edge of the stairs, he had glimpsed her cleavage again with a jolt to his groin, making him half-hard. Almost groaning at his own folly, he so wanted to palm those luscious looking breasts. _Did she know how tempting she was? It didn’t seem like it, but clearly, she had to know. No woman could be that oblivious of her own charms._

Spying from the window on the third floor, he saw her almost running to the gates, disappearing in the direction of Hogsmeade. _Maybe she was meeting someone. Maybe she had a date? Hopefully, she would be on the alert, taking care of herself, after what his brethren had done lately._ He had to admit, he felt uneasy about Granger running around on her own outside Hogwarts. 

Severus sighed, turning away. His lips twitched a little by the thought of Minerva's predicament, but her solution was elegant: Removing herself from the scene, and sending him a message by Patronus to go and fix the stairs. Like he had guessed, the castle was merely mischievous today, and a simple push had been enough to get the stairs moving again. But there was no way Minerva could know that, as she had no means to communicate with the castle. _He should, in hindsight, never have stepped down as Headmaster. It would have been better than being bored to death, though, at the moment, things were coming along very nicely indeed._

Severus wondered how he could have overlooked his own nature, his very _Slytheriness_ , when he had refused the post as Headmaster last year. It stood to reason that a wizard like himself, a consummate Slytherin, should _not_ have stepped down from power. Power, politicking and manoeuvring was after all second nature to him after a lifetime of war. And now, he had given himself another, impossible task. _He sighed, knowing that this would be difficult – though fun, as it appealed to his darker side._

Xxxx

They were meeting in the Three Broomsticks, and everyone, literally everyone, goggled at them. _The Saviour of the Wizarding World and the Gryffindor Princess._ Oh yes, Hermione could hear the mumblings. 

"Lovely," Harry sighed, wiping foam from his mouth after chugging half a bottle of Butterbeer. "No one makes Butterbeer like Rosmerta."

"True," she agreed, nipping at her bottle. Harry looked just like himself, hair impossibly untidy, glasses on his nose and green eyes shining. But, she rather thought, he had gained weight, looking more buff than before.

"How is everyone?" she asked, carefully.

His eyes became soft, and he flicked a _Muffiliato_ around them for protection. "Err, well, about that," he said hesitantly. "I have a message to you from Ginny and George. They want you to know that they're not mad at you for the break-up, but they need to keep away for the time being. Ron's still very angry, you know."

"Oh," she said, brightening up. "Does that mean they'll still be my friends?" _Oh gods, I still have friends, people don't hate me for breaking up!_ She was so relieved, it was almost silly, she might even start to cry, like a silly little girl.

"Mmh," Harry said, taking a swig from his bottle. "Staying low, that is. They don't want to antagonize Ron and… well…"

"I see," she said, a sinking feeling in her stomach. "It's Molly, isn't it?"

"Well, yes," Harry said, looking uncomfortable. "She's very mad at you, Hermione, you know how protective she gets. Arthur, I think, doesn't mind, but he'll do what Molly tells him."

"Yes," she said, not surprised at all.

"And," Harry continued, looking embarrassed, "Ginny and George ask you to forgo Christmas presents this year. They're afraid Ron or Molly might see the presents. We're just hoping Ron calms down soon."

_She knew very well that Ron could keep a grudge, so this … oh, it might be a while, then._

Sighing, she asked: "How are things at the office?"

Harry's expression became shifty.

"Bad, Hermione, it's really bad. Kingsley is almost exploding with frustration, Robards enforces the Minister's commands, if they indeed _are_ the Minister's commands, and Merlin help me, Hermione, the Minister himself suspects the whole Department for sabotaging the investigations. He's told me personally, because he believes I'm the only one who can be trusted, because it's too unlikely that I would support the Death Eaters."

"Merlin," she whispered, eyes big and scared. "The Minister suspects Kingsley and Robards? And Kingsley suspects both Robards and the Minister? Who do you believe in, Harry?"

He shrugged helplessly. "For the moment, I believe in myself, you and Ron. And that's about it."

As she drained her bottle, their table was overrun by several young witches, clamoring for Harry's attention. Sighing, Hermione realized that there would be no more talking in private on this night. Bitterly, she also noted that there were no young wizards swarming to meet _her_.


	7. All Hallows' Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he withdrew with a dangerously attractive half-smile that made her stare at his mouth, she suddenly realized that Severus Snape probably was a very experienced seducer, based on what she had been told of his activities last year.

**_The Daily Prophet, 20 October_ **

_– Raped, beaten and tortured: Learn about the horrors everyone's favorite matron went through at the hands of the Death Eaters, Rita Skeeter writes. In an exclusive interview, Hogwarts’ beloved matron Poppy Pomfrey tells for the first time what happened to her in the hands of the Death Eaters. – I will never be myself again, says the tear stricken witch, as her Healer in charge kindly pats her hand._

* * *

At the staff meeting, Severus tried to zone out as Minerva's voice droned on. _Why did these meetings always make him so very sleepy, and so incredibly bored? This morning, not even imagining a naked Granger could keep him alert._ Suddenly, he perked up. Minerva was _finally_ talking about security. He had pestered her to enforce new rules, but she had been loath to do it, dreading that it would scare the children:

"New measures must be taken," the Headmistress said, peering at them over the glasses on her nose. "I know you all are careful and vigilant, but I still feel uneasy. From today, we'll go double patrols, and not a word to the students, mind you! Let them enjoy life, believing that the world is a safe place, let them feel secure and happy at Hogwarts. Whenever you move outside the grounds, be very careful. Apparate or fly, _don't_ walk by yourself to the Three Broomsticks through the woods. During next Hogsmeade weekend, you will all be there to chaperone, and even sixth and seventh year students will move in groups only, accompanied by a teacher."

"What about the castle wards, Minerva?" Filius asked, perching on the top of his usual pile of pillows. His face was very serious, set in a grim expression, bushy eyebrows drooping.

Minerva faltered a little, shooting a quick look at Severus. Instantly, he penetrated her mind, whispering through the Legilimens connection: " _The castle wards are heightened to their maximum. There hasn't been such a level of security since the war. I am considering adding new wards to detect malicious intent, the only thing keeping me from it, is that it would invariably detect students hexing each other during their squabbles. It is very difficult to layer the wards to just so that only real attacks are registered."_

Minerva dutifully repeated his words verbatim, and he nodded slightly at her grateful look.

Miss Granger, of course, wasn't satisfied with the response. Her pretty brow furrowed, and she asked: "Wouldn't it be possible to exclude the students from the wards?"

Minerva blinked, and said slowly: "Well, I suppose so…"

 _No, this wouldn't do,_ he thought, and said out loud: "If I may, Headmistress." Addressing Granger, he said coolly: "And just how would that help us, Miss Granger, if the perpetrator was a student? Surely you remember students attacking each other, doing dark magic, sneaking in and out of the castle. We'll want to monitor that, too."

She pursed her lips, chastised, before she asked once again: "Are all the secret passageways blocked?"

"Of course," Minerva said, "Mr. Potter was most gracious in letting us use that magical map of his. Every single entrance is blocked and magically warded."

A small, mischievous smile played on Granger's lips, as she mumbled: "Such a shame for the students, then."

He rolled his eyes. _She was still a rule-breaking, adventurous, little Gryffindor at heart, wasn’t she, though she was now passing herself off as an adult, as a responsible Apprentice_. Somehow, that heartened him a little.

Xxxx

"Come on, Rolanda, this is good stuff. Try to relax, think about something nice, for a while. The gods know we need a distraction." Minerva stretched her legs out, feeling every ache in her creaking joints, leaning back into the soft cushions of her sofa. 

Her office looked considerably different than it had during the days of Dumbledore and Snape. It was filled with heavily ornamented oaken bookcases, made by masters of the craft. Swirling patterns of leaves, vines and buds and flowers were carved onto all surfaces of the furniture. All Dumbledore's spindly instruments were gone, and Snape's heavy tomes of dark magic had once again been relocated to his dungeon quarters, and the tartan patterns on the sofa gave off a decidedly Scottish vibe. Minerva just loved it. _It looked so much better now, like home._

There was, however, nothing soft about the whisky Minerva was serving her friend and colleague. Her brother had just sent her a case from the new batch, and Minerva was pleased with the way his brewing had improved.

The eyes of the flying instructor watered, as she downed the Firewhisky. "Strong…" she coughed, getting a few rough slaps on the back from her boss.

"Damn right you are, cask strength," Minerva said more cheerily than she felt. "Nothing like that weak, watered Ogden's. This is how a proper Scottish Firewhisky should be!"

Rolanda nodded, trying to blink back her tears.

"Now," Minerva said, "I'd like your input on the Halloween matching. We need some fun, even though the times are as bleak as ever."

Rolanda grinned. This was one of their favorite, clandestine meetings, where the two witches matched their colleagues with 'dates' for the official school feasts. This time, they were planning for one of the highlights of the year, namely the Halloween feast. Hogwarts had always celebrated Halloween, but after the war, Minerva had decided the school needed more parties - formal dances, really, to keep everyone’s spirits up. 

The two witches were running bets on who would actually snog – of course, preferably at the teachers' after party, after all the students were chased off to bed.

"Aurora and our friendly Transfiguration hunk," Rolanda began. "They hit it off in Hogsmeade at the last staff outing. Snogging is almost guaranteed."

"Very good," Minerva said approvingly, "but that doesn't make for an exciting bet for me, as the odds are low in your favour. What about… them kissing in public, in the presence of students?"

Rolanda nodded happily, and Minerva continued: "I was thinking Septima and Cato Byror. Admittedly, she's twenty-six years older than him, but I still think they'd be a fine match."

"Mmm," Rolanda said, looking sceptical. "I'm not sure if they would be all that pleased, but who knows? That's what betting is for, I suppose." Her grin was mischievous, as she added: "And they both need to get laid, I'd say."

"Right you are, so do we all. I'll go with Filius as usual, and you'll take Pomona, I suppose?"

"Yes. And Sybil and Hagrid this year, because not all of us _deserve_ to get laid?" Rolanda grinned even more widely, and Minerva snickered, nodding.

"Poor Hagrid, I wonder if Sybil will come on to him? Though, he really should ask Madame Maxime to visit us on a feast. That would be lovely. And oh, our little Gryffindor Princess needs a man," Minerva said. "It has to be our strapping, young Francis, don’t you think?"

Rolanda frowned. "No, she doesn't like him, while he likes her far too much."

"What?" Minerva said incredulously. "What did he do? If not him, we'll have to redo, pairing her with Cato, or we'll have to give her Severus."

"Yes! Good one!" Rolanda shouted with glee. "He'll be ever so angry, and she'll be embarrassed, but I bet sparks will fly to a greater degree than between Hermione and Francis!"

"Severus and Hermione it is," Minerva smirked. "He might actually talk to the girl at meals, but I bet ten galleons that there will be absolutely no snogging. And, then it's Bathsheda and Francis, then. You know what? I think I'll look forward to this Halloween."

"Deal," Rolanda said, clinking her glass to Minerva's. "But I want to extend the bet on Severus and Hermione. I think there's possibilities. Twenty galleons on them shagging like rabbits before summer."

Xxxx

As she entered his office after breakfast, he said curtly with a nod: "Your coffee is waiting for you. Good luck with your lesson, Granger. I will be watching you very closely."

Sipping at the delicious, freshly brewed coffee, she offered with a hesitant smile: "Thank you, sir."

Looking at her, he obviously detected her uneasiness. "Look, Granger, I won't step in unless you make a serious mistake. This is your class, today. After what I've heard about you handling the Arithmancy class, I'm sure you'll be adequate."

Staring at him, she wondered: _Did he just offer comfort and a compliment?_

Noting her surprise, he merely shrugged and said: "It's time, Granger. I'll sit in the back, catching up on my marking. The seventh years are your responsibility today," he said, giving her a formal nod, moving to enter the classroom from the back.

Squaring her shoulders, she followed him. _She was just as nervous for teaching as she was the first time with the Arithmancy class, but this time, she knew that she could handle the students. She was much more concerned with the tall dark shadow in the corner._

Standing at the front, she gave Snape a small, nervous smile, before opening the doors for the students with a crash, just like he used to do. In return, she got an amused glance, before he again looked down at his essays.

The students filed quickly in, just as silent like they normally were in his classes.

"Send your essays to Professor Snape," she said calmly, and added: "nonverbal. Do remain seated." Most essays sailed nicely over to the Professor's desk, but four of the students had trouble with the nonverbal spell. "Five points to each of you from Hufflepuff, Gryffindor _and_ Slytherin," she said quietly. "A ten inch essay on possible reasons for your failure to perform nonverbal magic, with a list of suggestions on how you can improve, to be delivered tomorrow, Misters Prewett, MacGregor, Owen and Miss Morgenstern."

"Miss Granger!" Prewett's arm shot up, the big, burly bloke with curly, blonde hair looking at her with shock. "Tonight is the only night for Gryffindor Quidditch practice before the match on Saturday!"

From the corner of her eye, she saw Snape raise his head, looking at her with interest. _Did he expect her to favour Gryffindor like he had favoured the Slytherins? He'd be sorely disappointed._

"It doesn't matter to me when you finish the essay, Mr. Prewett, as long as you deliver it on time," she said with a grim smile. "After all, you have all night after the practice to write your essay."

"But, Miss Granger, surely you, as a Gryffindor understand…!" he protested, before she interrupted him, eyes flashing. Her ‘inner Snape’, as she had started to call the disciplinarian voice in her head when chastising students, was chanting enthusiastically: _Dock points! Make that smug, little bastard pay for expecting favouritism from you!_

"Enough, Mr. Prewett. Another five points from Gryffindor. Do not test my patience further." Her voice rang out in the room, sure, decisive and clear.

The boy stilled, looking at her with a sullen expression. Snape, on the other hand, was somehow, impossibly _smiling_ to himself in his corner. _Merlin, the man_ **_never_ ** _smiled!_

Irritated, she continued her lesson. "Today, we're going to work on Protean Charms as well as wordless attacks and defense. The Charm is useful for simple, secret communication, and you'll practice setting up a small network of objects. Get together, five of you in each group. One of you will observe, and you'll pair up for attacking and defending, using the hexes your partner suggests through the Protean Charm. Let's get started, I want you to charm your notebooks like this…"

xxxx

Rita Skeeter slid into her seat at her favourite Diagon haunt, the _Happy Clabbert_. Like always, her usual table was reserved for her Sunday lunch with her photographer. Feeling a slight hangover from last night, she wondered if any of her sources would visit her table today. _Everyone_ knew Skeeter took her lunch here, and usually, someone came by with snippets of gossip or rumours, if not downright facts. Her friend, the photographer Malvin Fawley, was as usual complaining at the rising beer prices in this place, but she had ordered the same as always: A bottle of Uffington white and a small salad with anchovies and eggs.

"Fourteen Sickles for a pint, Rita! They're trying to skin us alive, this is outrageous. Why do you insist on going here? It's damned expensive, that's what it is!"

The truth was, she enjoyed the food and the more refined atmosphere, as opposed to the more raucous Leaky Cauldron. She smiled at Malvin, not really listening, as he always complained about something or the other. Rita supposed it was in his nature. He'd never be satisfied, except when his pictures made the front page. _She could relate to that, though._

Leaning back into her comfortable chair, she admired the bottle of white wine, the engraved horse running wild around the surface of the bottle, stopping for a moment to graze at the bottle neck, before galloping down to the bottom, tail flying high.

Idly, she speculated if her source in the Poppy Pomfrey case would step forward with more news. _It was very valuable to have a good source at St. Mungo's, as the Healers were notoriously tight-lipped – if indeed her anonymous source belonged to the hospital._

Suddenly, something very heavy and large crashed down on top of their table, and both Rita and Malvin yelled in shock. The thing didn't move, and a blue light flickered out quickly on top of it, indicating a Portkey.

 _It was a body. A very dead, mangled one, someone who had been through a heavy fight or maybe even torture._ The arms were contorted into odd shapes, the legs even more, and a foot was missing, leaving a bloody stump, white bone showing, sticking out at an angle. The face was drawn into a rictus grin, and a bloody eyeball rolled out of its socket towards Rita's plate, hanging on to a sliver of flesh. 

She quickly scrambled backwards. _Oh,_ s _he knew this man from countless photos. It was Antonin Dolohov._

Leaning forward again, she saw he had a note pinned to his chest. It said: _I have paid for my sins in full._

People were screaming around them, but as she met the eyes of her photographer, they shared a moment. _This,_ Rita thought, _this will be the story of the year. And it's all mine._

Xxxx

Monday at breakfast, the Great Hall was quiet, until the _Prophet_ was delivered by the owl post. Students and teachers alike gave half-muffled shouts by seeing the front-page, and some staggered away from the table, looking green and nauseous, heaving for breath.

She stared at the gruesome picture of a dead Dolohov, lying, of all things, on a white tablecloth in a _restaurant_ , for crying out loud. The headlines read: "Who Killed Dolohov? Ministry Bewildered" and "His Corpse Was Delivered by an Unauthorized Portkey to Star Reporter Skeeter: Full Details Inside." 

Hermione shivered a little, one hand raising to touch the outline of her scar from the Department of Mysteries. It was still a raised line of scarring slashed across her chest, though it was now silvery white, not angry and red anymore.

The staff was chattering around her as the students settled once more at their tables, but she chose to immerse herself in the story, before folding up her newspaper again. It was clear that Dolohov had been in a vicious fight, ending with him being tortured to death.

"Dreadful taste, that Skeeter woman," Snape drawled beside her, staring at the _Prophet_. "Who would have thought they would put such a picture on the front page, ruining the breakfast for the entire population?"

Hermione huffed. "I'll believe anything from _her._ She's vile." Peeping at him between her lashes, she asked hesitantly: "Did you know Dolohov well?"

He harrumphed, and said: "Much better than I like to think of. He was a filthy swine, the world is much better off without him."

"But who killed him? He was rather powerful, wasn't he?" she asked.

"Probably a scuffle for power," he said callously. "He got in the way of someone more powerful than him, I expect."

Xxxx

The door opened to admit her, and the lovely smell of coffee wafted out in the corridor.

"Hello," she said quietly as she entered, and he nodded at her, presenting her with a mug of coffee. Inhaling the lovely aroma, a deep sense of pleasure settled in her very being. From both taste and smell, it was clear that it was brewed by a master.

Sitting down in the chair beside his, in front of the fireplace, she noted that he seemed to have designated a mug to her. It was a tall, black porcelain mug, with a faint, silvery rose pattern. It was beautiful, surprisingly feminine with a dainty handle, whereas Professor Snape's own was an unrelenting black with a much more crude and stout form. _Like he had put consideration into finding a mug she’d like, but that … surely couldn’t be so._

Still, Hermione smiled with contentment, sipping that delicious coffee. He was leafing through a Herbology journal, and she picked up the Transfiguration magazine she had been reading yesterday to finish the article. The silence was companionable, and she realized she wanted this to go on forever: _Meeting him for that fantastic coffee after breakfast, reading quietly together_. From the corridor outside, she heard the growing bustle and chatter from the sixth year students arriving for their Potions lesson, and she sighed at the thought of classes starting. As he rose from his chair, she said wistfully: "I'd love to sit here reading and drinking coffee all day."

His mouth quirked a little, and he deadpanned: "If it wasn't for all the students, this school could be bliss."

Chuckling a little, she rose to follow him into the classroom.

Xxxx

Hermione was turning in front of her mirror, satisfied, for once, with her looks. Her dress was a dark, forest green velvet, bringing out the golden strands in her hair, and hugging her curves tight, with off-the-shoulder, long full sleeves. She felt every inch the Muggle idea of what a sexy witch should look like, with her curls piled on top of her head, and dark, dramatic make-up around her eyes. In the wizarding world, well, all they would say was that she looked good in her new dress robes _. That was, if anyone noticed her at all._

She stuck her tongue out to her reflection, and the mirror said snidely: "Now, dear, don't get too full of yourself. You might look in a way that makes wizards want to fill you up to the brim, but you're still going to be here for the next five years, remember?"

She blushed, remembering that _dream_ , that impossibly steamy dream she had right before she woke up this morning. _Fill up, oh Merlin, what if he read it from her mind?_ She would die of shame.

 _She had woken up, in the throes of her orgasm, to her horror and surprise gasping "Severus, oh, Professor! Please…" Startled and_ _scared, she had sat up in her bed, sheets tangled and sweaty, trying to remember her dream. He had been naked, with a hot, hard big cock, pounding into her from behind, one hand snaking underneath to finger her clit. And then, in her dream, they had orgasmed together, him gasping in her ear while his cock pulsed and jerked inside her, she writhing and whimpering with pleasure under his hard grip on her hips._

Scoffing at herself for her stupid mind, conjuring such an impossible idea, she left for the staff room. Well inside, the teachers were milling about, half an hour before the start of the feast. "You look wonderful," Septima beamed at her. 

"What happens now?" Hermione said curiously, watching the chattering teachers, all of them in dress robes, many wearing vibrant colours like purple, violet or red. Snape, however, stood out with his usual unrelenting black, his customary scowl firmly fixed on his face. Hermione couldn't help wonder: _It was Halloween, wasn't it? The night when he had lost the love of his life. Did he really want to attend a party full of giddy students and cheerful colleagues?_

"Minerva tells who's going with who this year," Septima said matter-of-factly. "She and Rolanda get together, trying to play matchmakers, and we all have to go along with it."

Hermione felt her expression turned to shock as Septima continued drily: "The pairing is decided by their bets on who'll snog who."

"Snogging..?" she said weakly.

"Yes," Septima said, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "And sometimes they do hit the mark. The rest of us bets on which pairings they'll choose this year. We've been doing this for ages. They did it under Dumbledore's reign too, but at that time, it was only for our afterparty, of course. We always threw a party for the professors after the Halloween feast."

"The rest of you bet on ... ?" She felt stupid, parroting her Mistress' words, but her surprise had overcome her vocabulary.

"Yes. This year, we felt that Aurora and Marius were an obvious choice, so no one bothered with them. You, however, have made the top. But I think it's fairly obvious. What with your friendship, and having known each other for such a long time…"

With horror in her voice, she whimpered: "You think Minerva and Rolanda believe I'll snog _Hagrid?"_

Septima laughed heartily. "No, of course not. Hagrid does have a lady friend, as you know, so he's off limits. He wouldn't dare step a toe out of line, or else Madame Maxime would rain blood and fire on him, making Voldemort look like a kitten."

She slowly exhaled, before furrowing her brow. "Surely you can't be thinking of… I wouldn't say _friendship,_ exactly…"

She was interrupted by the Headmistress, entering the room with a grinning Rolanda Hooch in tow.

"They've been … celebrating … a little, toasting their matchmaking skills," Septima whispered to her, winking conspiratorially.

Sure enough, both witches had a rosy glow in their cheeks, and their eyes were slightly glassy.

"Are you excited about the feast?" Minerva's voice was slightly slurred, and Rolanda giggled in the background.

A murmur crept through the teaching staff. Hermione noted that both Hagrid and Professor Snape looked like they'd rather be a thousand miles away, though the rest seemed to be almost bouncing on their toes. Even though she had looked forward to the feast, she was beginning to doubt if the evening would be any fun. _Merlin's balls, if they paired me up with Francis or Cato, I'll kill them!_ She didn't look forward to another night of dodging unwelcome advances.

She watched Hagrid release a shuddering sigh – _a very quiet and polite sigh, considering this was Hagrid,_ _she noted with a stifled laugh_ – as he was paired up with Trelawney, and immediately, several of the male wizards looked relieved. Hagrid patiently walked up to the Divination teacher, and _her_ mouth quivered with outrage, but she kept still, too, in respect for the Headmistress' decree. The Transfiguration Professor Marius Gewerryn beamed at Aurora Sinistra as they were paired up, and then suddenly Minerva said, giggling slightly: "And our pretty young apprentice, Hermione, will be paired with none other than our beloved Severus."

Her mouth fell open, and she barely noticed the shock on his face, as Septima crowed close to her: "I won! Filius, Aurora, Batsheda and Pomona, you all owe me five galleons!"

All she could think of was: _oh gods, that dream, that blasted dream… What if he notices? What if he sees it in my mind?_

She was standing still, but he moved towards her, tucking her arm into his. "If you would allow me…," he said. But all she could think of was: _Either Minerva or Rolanda believe I would kiss Snape. What parallel world do they live in? He'd hex me into the ground for even thinking about it! But Merlin, I've already dreamt worse, so..._ She gave him a brief, nervous smile, still shell-shocked.

As the Headmistress finished her announcements, he leaned in to her, black eyes trained on her, murmuring: "I don't know if I should be flattered or shocked that one of those old biddies believe I could stand a chance with a beautiful young witch like you."

As he withdrew with a dangerously attractive half-smile that made her stare at his mouth, she suddenly realized that Severus Snape probably was a very experienced seducer, based on what she had been told of his activities last year. _Oh sweet mother Morgana, did they think HE wanted to kiss HER?_ Now she felt nothing but skittish, and she felt her hand twitch on his arm. _Get your act together, Hermione!_ she scolded herself, chasing her nervousness away.

Giving him a bright, but very insincere smile, she said: "I don't see why you would be surprised, after what I've been told about _your_ experience, Professor."

Oddly, he looked slightly uncomfortable, scratching the scar on his neck. "I don't know _what_ you've been told, Granger, but…"

"Just that you're not a stranger to getting lucky, so to speak." Inwardly, she flinched by her own boldness. _I can't believe I've said something like that to Professor Snape! He'll kill me._

"Oh, _that_." His face was slightly flushed, just like he was embarrassed. _Surely not,_ she thought, biting down a nervous giggle. Then he continued, throwing a hard glare at Septima: "Whatever they said, it's an exaggeration, and what I want is not necessarily anything close to what those … _fans_ want from me, as I'm sure you're well aware of, Granger. Don't tell me you haven't had a rush of young wizards at your doorstep."

She flushed, feeling awkward. _Because she hadn't, had she? The odd proposal from obviously disturbed individuals, a few passes at her on after work drinks in her time at the Ministry, but nothing like Ron and Harry had received – and obviously Snape as well._

"Never mind," she said in a low voice. "It's not like either one of us care about the other's love life, is it? Let's try to make it a nice evening, without thinking about silly bets and such."

He stiffened visibly, straightening his back with an affronted look. "As you wish, Granger," he said curtly.

Xxxx

He had been quiet during the meal, not really knowing what to make of Granger's dismissal. _She_ nattered on, of course, oblivious to his mood as usual. _Maybe she didn't notice any difference_ , he thought bitterly. _He had made an advance, sort of, hadn't he, unlikely as it was. And she had told him in no uncertain terms that she was not interested, and that he shouldn't even bother._ He had never, ever made a pass at a colleague before, and he wasn't sure what to expect from her after the rebuff. She seemed friendly enough right now, but then she was forced by their superior to be his date for the evening. Whatever Granger felt, the result was clear: _He had made a fool of himself again. She was obviously not willing to go quite that far to fulfill her mission of spying._

He emptied his goblet with a small grimace, disgusted with himself, the familiar self-loathing welling forth. _It seemed All Hallows' Eve would always be the night when everything would fall apart. From the catastrophic event of Lily’s death, setting in his life into a tailspin, causing grief for years and a lifetime of guilt, to tonight’s embarrassment, managing to estrange his young, too-pretty colleague. Dear Merlin, he had moved from life-changing events to social gaffes. How banal, and how utterly cliche he had become, just another soon-to-be middle-aged man chasing a young woman who didn’t want him._

Snapping his fingers impatiently, the goblet filled again with the excellent red Tintagel he so favoured. _The castle knew what he preferred by now, making sure the House-elves always served him the best from the cellars._ Drinking deeply, he tried to forget about his own personal inadequacies. 

As the music started and the floor was readied for dancing, he rose, settling his hand lightly against the Granger's back, steering her towards the dance floor for the first formal dance. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Heron, that dirty Bubotuber-pus-filled lizard of a pathetic excuse for a Defense teacher, _ogle_ the girl, taking in those half-bared, luscious tits and that narrow waist. Almost without meaning to, he pulled her in too tight, almost possessively clutching her, and she almost squealed in his arms by surprise as he swept her out on the dance floor. 

"Oh," she said a little breathlessly, after a short while of dancing, looking up to him with those big, caramel eyes. "I didn't know you were such a good dancer, Professor." Her smile was open and friendly, and she clung to him so deliciously as he glided them across the floor. _Her waist felt so good under his hands, and her soft breasts were pressed into his chest. He would definitively explore that feeling in his fantasies later. At least, she’d always be willing in his fantasies._

Then she said, face serious: "I realize I was a bit rude earlier. It came out wrong, because you were just being nice to me, and I was stupid enough to presume something else, entirely unfounded. I've thought about it during dinner, and I decided to try to be an adult about my stupidity." She lifted her blushing face to him, caramel eyes deep enough to drown in, and said: "I apologize for my vanity and for presuming you made a pass at me."

His breath hitched, and all his stupid pride, his stubborn, prickly pride that held him aloof and alert at all times, came crashing down, disintegrating by the look in her eyes. _Gods, I could forgive her anything._ _I could…_ But, all he _could_ do, it seemed, was to nod stiffly.

He gathered her even tighter to him, swirling her about the floor. Her dark green dress whirled around them, mingling with his black robe like a small tornado gathering strength. The music stopped, but he was not about to release her, keeping his hold of her and stepping out into the next dance. _She smelt so good. Faint vanilla, freshly ground coffee, a hint of coconut over a whiff of leather-bound books._ A nagging worry settled in his mind, that the next time one of his students made a correct Amortentia, it would smell exactly like her. _And that was just plain wrong, impossible even. He was not supposed to involve himself with anyone, especially not someone like her. What if she found out?_

Xxxx

She had never had a more accomplished dance partner, and she felt as if she was floating through the Great Hall in his arms. Even though she was a mediocre dancer at the best, tonight, she felt like a star. After what seemed like a blink of the eye, though it had to be several songs, he stopped, bowing politely at her.

"Granger. Though it is a pleasure dancing with you, I imagine that there are any number of our colleagues that would like the honour." He led her off the floor to the drinks table, and in a corner, she saw Rolanda smirk at her, before she turned to Minerva, making a gesture that screamed "hand over the money."

Minerva shook her head, miming quite clearly "not yet." _Oh, then it was Minerva who didn't believe they would be kissing. Somehow, she felt relieved that her former Head of House didn't think she'd snog her former Potions Professor._ But she was unnerved when she saw the stares of students, pointing and whispering at them.

Septima walked up to them, a glass of red Elf wine in her hand. She smiled at them, a little mischievously. "I can see you've hit it off," she remarked, with casual pretense. "And I'd say you're rather lucky, Severus. You've had worse on these occasions, haven't you?"

"Well, yes. Dancing with Granger was pleasurable," he said stiffly.

Septima turned to Hermione, and explained: "For years, Minerva and Rolanda used to pair him up with Sybil, you see. It was great fun to watch the two of them, and I think Minerva did it for the heck of it."

Snape huffed, excusing himself, stalking off in the direction of Minerva. Septima laughed a little, whispering to Hermione: "You see, back in the days, Sybil quite fancied Severus, but he's always been appalled by her advances. Later, she gave it up, during his Headmaster tenure."

Hermione sometimes felt that she was continuously round-eyed when being told of the interactions of her former teachers, but she nodded politely, before Francis Heron swooped in, asking her to dance. After a minute, she regretted it already, as he had stepped on her toes five times already.

Xxxx

Late in the evening, Minerva realized that Rolanda had been absolutely right. Hermione detested Francis Heron, while he tried to pursue her intensively. Feeling sorry for the brilliant young witch, who obviously tried to get away from the man’s attentions by being _far_ too polite, she shook her head. _This wouldn’t do, not at all._

Beckoning Francis towards her, she led him off in one of the darker corners.

"This is not the way to go about your real job, Francis," she said sternly.

He widened his eyes, trying to look innocent.

"Bah!" she said disgustedly, "don't try that look with me. As you know, I'm very much aware that you're the designated Auror guard for Hogwarts. I'm not stupid, it's obvious that this year, you've been ordered to guard Hermione in secret too. This is not the way to go about it, you're merely alienating her."

Francis looked panicky, eyes a little bloodshot and hair disheveled, and he hissed: "No one was supposed to know! Not even you!"

Minerva shrugged. "Your secret is safe with me, but don't keep on antagonizing her. That will make your job more difficult. This is merely friendly advice." She left the Junior Defense teacher fuming for himself in a corner, but her mission was successful. The man left Hermione alone for the remainder of the night. Though, Minerva wondered, not for the first time, how the Auror Office could employ people with so little finesse when it came to covert operations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The paragraph with Rita is one of my favourite parts of the story. Someday, I might write a Rita Skeeter story too, lol. "My summer in Granger's jar," or something like that. *grins*


	8. Rampant Suspicion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instead, he covered his reaction with a smirk: "Are you affected, Granger?"
> 
> Hermione blushed, but replied: "I'm not a schoolgirl, sir."
> 
> Staring at her for a long time, he replied softly: "Indeed, you are not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting! <3

**_The Daily Prophet, 1 November:_ **

_Lucius Malfoy Tells It All: Dolohov Was My Death Eater Nemesis._

_– He was the one who pushed my father into Voldemort's gang at school, says a distraught and dishevelled Lord Malfoy, pushing away his famous silvery mane from his troubled eyes. – I can't help but think of what my life and my family's life would have been like without Antonin Dolohov. So much has been taken from us, so much has been forced upon us._

_The tall, blonde wizard breaks off, hiding his eyes behind his hands, and my quill stall, as I breathlessly watch the mighty Malfoy patriarch fight his sobs._

* * *

As she sat down by the High table for breakfast, she felt refreshed after her morning shower and a much guilt-triggering, involuntarily nightly orgasm. The orgasm had been so very satisfying, but it was due to another, too-hot dream of Professor Snape. Throwing a quick glimpse at the man in question beneath her eyelashes, she banished her feelings of shame to the deepest recesses of her mind. _Don’t think about it, Hermione, not in his presence. What if he picks up on it?_ Instead, she concentrated on the Prophet, running a silly story about Lucius Malfoy. Her eyebrow raised in a skeptical expression, she turned to Snape beside her, pointing at the Prophet. "Is this drivel really true?"

She clearly saw him hiding a smile, but he slowly shook his head, black hair swinging about him, and he replied drily: "Lucius is a very good actor. But I do believe he resented Dolohov, just not ... quite that much."

"Mmh," she said, her mouth filled with toast. She shook her head in disgust as she read the piece, being sure the man was lying through his teeth to the stupid reporter. _Could Lucius Malfoy be the new leader of the dark? And what about Draco?_

Suddenly, she realized she had no idea what Draco did after the war. Glancing at Snape, she wagered another question: "What's Draco Malfoy doing, by the way? I haven't heard anything about him after the Battle."

"He's abroad," Snape said, preoccupied with reading. "He's attending the Complutense University in Madrid, getting a degree in Potions. He'll be a decent Potioneer."

"Oh," she said, pushing her luck, she asked: "What does he need a degree for? Isn't his future job just hanging around the Ministry trying to influence people?"

Snape snorted into his tea, spraying his plate with the fluid. Giving her an exasperated, but amused glance as he waved a wordless _Tergeo_ over his plate, he said: "Yes, Granger, that's what he'll do when Lucius is too old and decrepit to move about. In the meantime, meaning the next fifty years or so, he might use that brain of his for something useful. Did you know Lucius had a Charms degree from the Humboldt University in Berlin? Even though he was brilliant at Charms, he went into the family business early. His father, Abraxas, never really recovered after the Dark Lord's first fall."

She nodded, surprised that he willingly had divulged so much information to her. Then an odd notion struck her. She furrowed her brows, drained her cup, and sent the question straight at him, mustering all her bravery: "Professor, why do you still refer to Voldemort as the Dark Lord?"

He grimaced slightly, face closing up, and he said: "It's a habit. I've said that for more than twenty years. It's hard to change, though I see why you ask," he said stiffly.

"I'm not implying anything," she replied quickly, "I'm just curious." But the conversation between them died out. 

The staff left for the Monday staff meeting shortly afterwards, and as Hermione entered the room, the sight that met her was very unexpected.

A laughing Filius, a hooting Sybil and a sniggering Septima was standing in front of an obviously embarrassed Batsheda. The Ancient Runes Professor was clearly not happy about being found in the staff room come morning, sleeping half-naked on top of a totally naked Francis Heron.

During the next few days, sniggers and looks abounded in the staff room, though everything was kept to a minimum in front of the students. While Batsheda and Francis got the brunt of it, the teachers all agreed that Marius and Aurora hitting off was sweet, and as everyone realized, they were rapidly approaching couple-status. Still, Hermione got her fair share of jokes for dancing with Snape.

Rolanda said slyly: "Did you know dancing is another word for upright intercourse? You certainly seemed to be grinding against each other, so very tightly entwined. Did you have to spell your robes, hiding your front afterwards, Severus?"

Filius laughed, winking his bushy eyebrows at them, saying: "I'm sure Severus would love to give Hermione a very special detention, celebrating she's not a student anymore."

Hermione felt flustered, not really sure how she should handle this, but as it happened, she didn’t have to. 

_He_ rose from his chair, looming over the two colleagues, hands closed to fists, snarling: "This is what I get for following my superior's orders for a night? If I can't dance with Granger in public at a formal ball without being accused of lecherous conduct, I really think that you have too much time on your hands. Maybe you should be more occupied keeping up to date with your subjects, instead of making up brain-dead gossip about your fellow staff members!"

"Yes, yes," Rolanda said laughingly, "I should bury myself in Broomsticks Monthly Review instead, but I'm a bad, bad witch." But the joking stopped, to Hermione's relief. She sent Snape a grateful look, but he glowered at her in return, like this was her fault in the first place, not a stupid little game originating with the Headmistress and the flying instructor.

The students worried her, as the whispers and avid mutterings seemed to be growing. They pointed out her and Snape during meals, and she heard whispered mutterings where the main theme was that _Snape and Granger_ **_had_ ** _to be a couple – did you see them dancing_ ? It made him snort in disgust, and she blushed, feeling embarrassed. Moreover, his obvious feelings of disgust made her feel very uncomfortable. _Did he loathe the thought of_ **_her_** _, or the rumours in general?_

However, she still enjoyed their morning coffee session before classes. Even though they were mostly reading, she found the silence to be companionable, and she only hoped he enjoyed it as much as herself. She tried to reassure herself: _Severus Snape was a man who didn't leave you in the dark regarding his displeasure. He would have told her if he didn't like it. But maybe it was the other way around – he had trouble expressing his contentment?_

Those students that thought they were a couple had to think that her bravery was bigger than her brains, because she couldn't even contemplate daring to make a move on him. He was not quite as cantankerous as he had been when she was his student, and this autumn had proved that it was possible to hold a conversation with him. But still, that was a far cry from engaging with him romantically. He was still forbidding, irritable and sarcastic. _She rather thought that those witches that propositioned him had to get off on fear._

Xxxx

Again, she woke, gasping into her empty room, this time on the brink of orgasm. Sweet Morgana, this time her rampant imagination had placed her in Snape's classroom, bent backwards over his desk, her hands tied together over her head, while he pounded into her, black hair swinging with his movements, tickling her hard nipples.

Hermione knew she'd feel awkward in the morning, but she wasn't able to stop her hands from tugging down her sleeping shorts, burying her fingers in her sopping wet folds to stroke her clit over the brink. _Gods, in her dream Severus Snape had tied her up, controlling her to do whatever he pleased, mastering her…_ Her back arched from the mattress, and she came, clenching hard around the finger she thrust deep into herself: "Oh Professor, please, fuck me hard!" she panted, her mind continuing her dream-turned-fantasy through her orgasm.

Blushing, she came down from her high, feeling mortified. _She had never entertained thoughts of being dominated before, but this… How could it be? She was strong and independent, how could she get off by thinking about Snape in this way? And gods, what if he found out that she repeatedly dreamt about sex with him?_

Xxxx

Hermione was patrolling, late at night by the Entrance Hall. Students sneaking off to the kitchens at night usually took the shortest route, which meant they would pass by her hiding-place behind a great, hulking suit of armour standing guard, making them easy catches. The evening was dark and windy, with great clouds chasing through the skies, the moon was full, giving off an eerie light into the hall as it dipped in and out of the racing clouds.

She sighed, wishing for her shift to be over, wanting her nice, warm bed instead of the drafty Entrance hall.

Suddenly, the large doors creaked open, and a limping figure entered, hobbling towards the entrance to the dungeons. She almost called out, before the moon again peeked through the clouds, and light fell on his face. 

It was Snape, but gods, he looked horrible. He had several gashes on his face, and his pallid colour told a story of a considerable loss of blood. His injuries clearly stemmed from a fight, or a very vicious duel. Remaining quiet, she held still until after he had disappeared into the dungeons. Slowly, cautiously, she moved forward, and noted that he had left a thin trail of blood. She Vanished it, wondering what on earth he had been up to, deciding on a whim to wait it out and keep an eye on things, before contacting Harry again. _Whatever Snape had done, it obviously was no walk in the park._

The next morning, she tagged along with him after breakfast, as he went to prepare their coffee. Noting he still had a limp, she decided to ask.

When she was settled on his sofa, with her mug in her hand, she queried: "What happened to your leg?"

His eyebrows rose, and he said curtly: "I fell."

"Oh," she said, not believing him for a moment. "You … seem to have some new scars," she said quietly, pointing to his chin.

"Cut myself shaving," he responded promptly, not batting an eyelid.

"Really," she said, investing all her disbelief in her answer. Snape just glowered, and slammed his mug on the table.

"Let's prepare the Potions classroom," he snarled at her.

Xxxx

Very few were aware of the fact that Severus Snape kept the most orderly storage room in Europe. This was, of course, thanks to the numerous detentions he assigned. Students cleaned, sorted, refilled and labelled all sorts of ingredients, dusted cobwebs, swept the floors and cleaned Potions spills from shelves, cupboards, desks. He barely had to do any work to keep it in shape.

Now, he was glaring at Granger between his shelves, as she bustled around gathering Wormwood, stewed Mandrakes and Ground Unicorn Horns for the class, because the seventh years were brewing the Oculus Potion this morning. He supposed she'd be reporting to the Ministry on his injuries, and when recent events came to light, he'd be in the limelight of suspicions. If only Poppy still had been here, she'd heal his leg properly, but it was too difficult to work that kind of magic on himself. He would have to postpone the reveal of his actions, making a time gap between Granger noticing his injuries and the actual discovery. Still glowering at her, he could see her searching frantically for something along the shelves, muttering and shaking her head.

_And, there was the matter of the letter he had gotten at breakfast. An innocuous looking owl, with a non-descriptive piece of parchment. The content was not so ordinary, though, and he had quickly put it down, making sure no one else wouldn’t get a glance of it. The letter posed a question for him, asking him to do the unbelievable, threatening him with ruin. He had to think about that, because like everything, it had possibilities. Possibilities for a great victory, even._

"Sir," she panted as she rounded the corner of the shelves, stopping straight in front of him. "I don't understand, I can't find the Crystalized Water anywhere on the shelves! I checked both W and C, and it's just not there!" Her eyes were big with worry, and he skimmed her thoughts, feeling her slight panic at the thought of them having to change the lesson. He almost snorted, as one clear thought from her overrode everything: _Oh God, I read up on the Oculus, what if he chooses another Potion, and I don't remember the instructions?_

 _Not bloody likely, Granger_ , he thought, _you could probably sit your exams and get an O ten years from now without ever thinking of Potions in the meantime._

But then his light, surface Legilimency caught another strong transmission from her: _God, those dreams, he's just as stern in real life. That glare, what if he took me up against the shelves – Merlin, what are you thinking, girl! What if he catches your thoughts_! 

She visibly cringed, blushing slightly in front of him, and lowering her eyes to the stone floor.

Mouth agape, he stared at her. _Did she just want me to …?_ His cock seemed to yell at him: _Go on and do it right away, you moron, if that's what she wants!_

Snapping his lips tight together, he tried to rein in his desire. _Remember, those snotty seventh years will be outside the classroom in seven minutes. You can wait, god damn it, you're almost forty!_

He pinched the bridge of his nose, saying disdainfully, hiding his confusion and brief spike of lust: "Granger, if you will use that brain of yours, you would realize that part of the task is to conjure the Crystalized Water. As you should know, it doesn't keep very well, and it is a nuisance to get the storing conditions right. I've never bothered with that, as it is so easy to conjure."

She parted her lips, sighing in relief – _or was it something else?_ – and he snorted. "Come on, Granger, get those ingredients into the classroom before they arrive."

Xxxx

 _Aaaah._ The Headmistress settled slowly in her favorite chair in the staff room, her knees literally screaming at her. _Who would have thought it took so much out of you, just getting old_ ? Minerva felt the relief as the pain in her kneecaps slowly receded. Closing her eyes briefly, she heard Severus complain – _unusual in itself_ – she thought.

His deep voice rumbled to Hermione: "I don't see what I can do differently. They know they will never be encouraged. But still those little chits do their best to get in detention with me, like I'd ever, ever consider a student in that fashion." She could hear his exasperation clearly in his voice. Silently, she chuckled. _That's what you get for being so strict, Severus_ , she gloated on the inside. _All the little girls looking for a dominant male at Hogwarts zoom right in on you. They just can't help themselves._

Then Hermione said: "Schoolgirls crushing on you, that's only natural, I guess."

"Natural!" he snorted with a deep disgust.

"Yes," Hermione said defiantly. "You're a tall, dark war hero. Of course it's natural. You are the very epitome of a romantic crush."

Minerva sniggered to herself, as Severus' uneasiness became clearly visible. _He wasn't used to handling compliments, wasn't he?_

Instead, he covered his reaction with a smirk: "Are you affected, Granger?"

Hermione blushed, but replied: "I'm not a schoolgirl, sir."

Staring at her for a long time, he replied softly: "Indeed, you are not."

The resulting moment was quiet, intense, and her two employees seemed to be lost in each other's eyes for a long time.

Minerva ostentatiously leafed through her book, but as the silence continued and her sense of their mutual attraction grew, she thought: _What a surprise. Here I thought there was only a budding friendship. Maybe Rolanda was right? I shouldn't have wagered that much on them. Damn._

Xxxx

On a Thursday night, she snuck out alone to go to the Three Broomsticks. Disillusioning herself as she left the castle, she hurried to the Apparition point just outside the gates. She almost blushed by her own intentions, because she had never, ever imagined that she would go out, alone, with the purpose of chatting up a wizard. She determinedly told herself, there was nothing wrong for a witch to try to find a wizard on her own.

It wasn't as if the castle could provide for her in that respect. Either her colleagues were too old, too self-loving and bragging, or too … snarky. She blushed, thinking about Professor Snape. _Gods, no, he's not interested, she was just imagining things, and she had to forget about the heady sensations her dreams created. And if he had been, sweet Morgana, what then? Would she really dare? No, most definitely not_ , she decided. 

A nice, young, uncomplicated wizard, that's what she needed. Those dreams were most assuredly a result from her sexual needs. _It would be better if she satisfied those desires, wouldn't it? Then the dreams would go away, and she could have a nice, uncomplicated working relationship with Professor Snape_. 

Turning on the spot, she felt the familiar, uncomfortable squeezing, the crack of Apparition loud in her ears. As always, she wondered if it was the same sound connected through space from a simultaneous departure-and-arrival, or if it indeed were two different cracking noises, one at the departure point and one at the arrival point.

Outside the pub, she stopped, unravelling her Disillusionment. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. _Relax, Hermione_ , she thought. _People do this all the time. Try to look like you're here to grab a beer, taking a short break from the stress of your studies. Don't look like you're so desperate. Oh Merlin, will anyone recognize me?_

Stopping short for a moment, her mind envisioned a Rita Skeeter front page story: “Golden Girl Granger gets it going on pub crawls. Witches: Keep your wizards in tight rein!”

Shaking her head and straightening her shoulders, she sauntered in as best she could, taking a seat by the bar. The pub was half full, several people drinking on their own, and quite a few were having a late supper. The warmth was cosy after the cold from outside, and she shrugged off her cloak to show off her outfit: A black pencil skirt, high boots and a tight, purple sweater, snug around her waist and breasts.

"A porter, please," she said, giving Madam Rosmerta a smile. As she waited for her drink, she let her gaze move through the room. _Damn!_ Snape was there, sitting in a corner with a book and nursing a pint of ale. She suddenly wondered, with a sinking feeling, if he was there for the same reason as her. _Was he scanning the room for a witch to catch his interest?_

At the least, he was aware of the comings and goings of the customers, as he lifted an eyebrow at her, rose from his chair, and walked towards the bar. She turned around fighting the blush in her cheeks. _Gods, what if he were, and what if he came to … her. What would she do_? In her belly, she felt a strong flare of desire at the thought, a low pulse starting somewhere low in her belly.

"Out on your own, Granger?" His deep, silky voice came from high above her head, even though she was sitting on a high bar stool, sending another shiver through her.

"Yes," she said, looking up at him from her eyelashes. His finger drummed on the counter, and his look was indecipherable, as he cocked his head, looking down at her. He put a hand on her back, and _gods,_ she burned under his touch, her whole body tingling.

"Another one, Rosmerta," he said to the barmaid.

"Coming right up, Professor Snape," Rosmerta said with a wide smile, giving him and Hermione a surprised, but appraising look.

He turned to her, mouth tugging a little: "Why are you here, Granger, dressed up to the nines?"

She felt her face flush, _no fuck, even her hands – her hands_! – were flushed, and after a short while, she decided to go for the truth. From his wicked smirk, it was obvious that he knew, anyway.

"To see if I can meet someone, sir."

He arched his eyebrows, saying: "Someone in particular?"

"You mean like a date?" she replied.

"Something like that," he said.

"No, not really, sir. I've realized that while I enjoy studying at Hogwarts immensely, it isn't all that conducive to meeting young wizards. Either they're too young…"

"Or too old," he supplied, voice a little bitter.

"Ah, well…" she swallowed, feeling uncertain. _Clearly, he hadn't forgotten her gaffe from the staff party at the beginning of term, telling him she'd thought he looked older than his years. But really, there was something about him… something she felt attracted to, no matter his age, something that made her dream about him – but she could never tell him that._

"I won't hinder you, Granger, just be careful. Remember what happened to Poppy," he said stiffly, turning around to return to his corner.

Xxxx

 _She looked smashing_. That skirt showed off her tight, little arse perked on the bar stool, and the swell of her breasts were clearly visible through her sweater. His cock flexed at the sight of her, craving attention. 

He had gone to the pub to get a decent beer to go with his book, but as his eyes twitched back and forth from his book and Granger, he realized he wouldn't get much pleasure out of reading. _And she had made it perfectly clear - again - that Hogwarts didn't hold a suitable wizard for her_. _Oh well, it stood to reason, the Ministry couldn’t set such demands on her, that she’d use her body to spy on him. They would never force her to lay down for him as part of her duties. No matter how stupid the Ministry were, they certainly were no Voldemort, he thought bitterly._

Somehow, her dismissals stung him, though realistically speaking, he knew that she wouldn't be interested. Not for real, not outside her mission to spy on him, because she clearly wouldn’t offer him the time of day when on her own hours. _What he had spied in her mind, her thinking about him in a sexual way, was clearly a freak accident, because here she was, looking for a quick hook-up with anyone else but him._ Still, he felt like he needed to keep an eye on her. The girl was silly, really, to think a high-profile target could go safely into Hogsmeade alone, after what happened to Poppy. _Typical Gryffindor, thinking she was invincible._

As a young wizard made a move on her, chatting her up, he felt his face morph into a deep scowl. _Get a grip, Granger can talk to anyone she likes_ , he scolded himself, but he was unable to wrench his eyes away from the wizard's advances. And to him, it looked like they had hit it off, when the wizard put his arm around her shoulder.

Xxxx

 _Why, oh why, was she always saddled with idiots?_ This one wanted to tell her that the war was due to a misunderstanding, and he was sure it could have been resolved peacefully, everyone living in harmony. She had stared open-mouthed at him, and then the moron continued: "A pretty little slip of a girl like you shouldn't have to bother her head with politics and war."

He was young and handsome, with brown, curly hair and blue eyes, but goddamn it, looks weren't enough, not even for a one-night stand. She had to face it, she was also looking for someone with a brain to match her own. Unwittingly, her gaze slid to Professor Snape. He surely was brilliant enough to match her needs, but his disposition – oh, that scowl he was wearing… Oddly enough, she realized that she didn't object to his looks anymore. Rather, Snape looked … hot, of the dark and dangerous kind, her shift in perception fueled by those vividly hot dreams, no doubt. By that thought, his eyes lifted from his book to meet hers, and she jumped on her stool, causing the idiot beside her to sling his arm around her shoulder. Snape's eyes narrowed, and he quickly looked down into his book again.

With a few choice words on what she thought a capable witch should do to someone who made unwelcome advances and what she thought of morons who believed Voldemort would have settled for a cosy family life in a cottage, she sent the wizard packing. After that, the rumour of her rather rough threats obviously spread through the pub, and no one approached her. Disgruntled, she drained her last pint – of the four she had drunk – and settled her cloak around her shoulders.

At that, Professor Snape was at her shoulder, quietly, startling her, and he murmured: "Are you going back to Hogwarts?"

"Yes," she sighed. "Nothing here today but meeting idiots."

"I'll walk you back, it's not safe," he said, his tone broking no objections.

She was drunk, irritated and embarrassed by her failure, and flustered by his presence. The fact that she wanted him, was insistently making itself known by the tingling feeling between her legs, but there was no way he'd be interested. All in all, she felt quite thoroughly that she had made a fool of herself this evening.

They walked back to the castle in silence. Just outside the gates, she stopped him, and her mouth poured out of its own volition: "I wouldn't want you to think I'm that forward. This is, as you probably can guess by my meager success, not something I do normally. I don't pick up wizards all the time, it's just that… I'm lonely." _Merlin, why am I telling him this? He doesn't care_! She blushed, slightly horrified at her own, drunk stupidity, but was seemingly unable to stop herself.

Peering down at her from his height, his black hair hanging down, almost obscuring his face, he said: "I'm not one to judge a witch for taking an initiative."

She took a shuddering breath. _Gods, what was wrong with her? No one wanted her anyway. Harry had loads of love-letters, Ron too, and even the man in front of her, who had to be the second most feared man in magical Britain exempting Voldemort himself, received proposals all the time._

Shaking her head, she blundered on to her own horror and shame: "I don't know what I'm doing wrong. Everyone nails this. Harry, Ron. You. For me, it's only been Ron, really, except one other, and as you probably can imagine, Ron and I went to hell rather fast."

He stared at her, face indiscernible as usual. "I'm sure you've had better offers afterwards," he said gently. "Weasley could never be a match for you, anyone could see that."

At that, she felt angry, and blurted out: "There are no offers! Only children and perverts. It's like I have a disease, only attracting berks like Francis or Cato, or that stupid, misguided idiot down at the pub. No normal, nice wizards are interested."

His eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Surely, a pretty, young witch like you, war heroine, accomplished academic, gets run down with offers," he said slowly, eyes searching her face.

"No," she said curtly, "it's not happening."

Face returned to his usual scowl, he replied: "So much for the future of the nation. They're all nitwits."

Feeling as she had said entirely too much, red-faced with shame, she stalked up to the castle, not daring to give him another glance.

Xxxx

Defiant, she brought out her vibrator, laying it to rest on her bed spread. _If Hogsmeade couldn't deliver, then her toy could do it for her_. She had the fire roaring to chase the November cold out of her small chamber, and quickly, she stripped off her finery. Laying down on the bed, she slowly fingered her nipples with one hand, letting the other trail over her mound. Closing her eyes, she started a nameless, faceless fantasy, but quickly, it got out of hand.

 _The man wasn't faceless, it was Professor Snape, because … who else?_ _That sexy, upper body she had just glimpsed was bare, and his stringy hair was tied back. He had stripped her, but barely opened his trousers. With a firm hand, he pushed her down to his cock slipping out from the placket, nudging her lips with his member. She tasted him, and then he groaned. For a few moments, she sucked him off, and then he was so turned on by her, that he just had to have her, he wanted her so much…_

Her right hand found her vibrator, starting it, and applied pressure to her clit. _Yes, Professor Snape… He bent her over a table, entering her roughly from behind. It didn't hurt, because she was so wet, she wanted him so much. Thrusting hard into her, the fantasy-Snape was grunting with effort, whispering filthy, lewd things in her ear_. Her hand on the vibrator moved in time with his imagined thrusts, and soon, far too soon, she bucked over the edge, screaming his name as she shuddered and her belly clenched.

Xxxx

The next day, she got a letter from Harry, the owl finding her immersed in her studies at the library, to Madam Pince's shriek of disapproval. After she had read the letter, she felt shivers of fear crawling down her spine, squeezing her eyes shut, hands shaking, clutching the scroll. She hurried off to the staff room, wanting to share this with someone, anyone – and she did not want to be alone right now.

Inside, she found Snape marking a stack of papers. She panted, on the verge of panicking, thinking: _He may not be one for emotional comfort, but he will be able to assess the situation, never mind I totally made a fool of myself in Hogsmeade._

He lifted an eyebrow, saying: "I'm busy, Granger. This is my free period, and I'd like to finish the marking now, instead of tonight."

She thrust the letter at him, face pale, and hands still shaking. "You'll want to read this," she said quietly.

His dark eyes scanned the letter, and his mouth pinched. "So, the Auror Office still likes to keep its secrets," he muttered, returning the letter to her. "Shame that they forgot to tell the employees to keep their mouths shut, what with having big mouths like Potter on the payroll."

"What?" she said incredulously. "Harry knew I needed to know about this! And so do you, if what I've heard about you receiving death threats are true."

He shrugged. "I don't see any personal letters informing me of the fact."

"Never mind," she said almost frantic, "the fact remains, Azkaban is empty, and no one knows! The danger is…"

"Certainly the greatest since the Dark Lord fell," he continued calmly. He looked at her, taking in her shaking hands, paleness and, she was sure, even the nervous sweat on her upper lip, and sighed.

"Sit," he pointed at the chair beside him. Snapping his fingers, he ordered tea from the House-elf that appeared. Instantly, a tea service appeared on the table, its appearance shuffling his stack of essays to the side.

He made her a cup, and she suddenly realized that he knew how she took her tea: the perfect amount of milk, no sugar. She clutched at the cup, trying to let the fragrance calm her.

Sipping his own tea, _black, no sugars_ , she noted, storing off for future reference, he said quietly: "We both knew this would happen. Now it has. From your letter, it seems like the attack was a success, freeing both Death Eaters and other miscreants. All we can do is to prepare by being watchful and alert."

She nodded, shivering. "I can't believe that the Ministry will give no warning to the public. Now you and I know, and I'm sure Harry will warn the other Order members. But this affects everyone. And," her voice fell to a whisper, "I can't help being scared."

"You should be," he said, scrutinizing her with his black, impassive gaze. "But you know what to do. You've been at war."

"Not like this", she said shakily. "I was either relatively safely here as one of many students at Hogwarts or on the run. Now, I'm a sitting duck, and as you said, maybe the main target. This feels like … paranoia."

His mouth quirked at that, and he said silkily: "True. You're much more exposed now. Still, I believe you can defend yourself more than adequately, and Hogwarts is still a safe place."

"What about you," she blurted out, "aren't you worried? To them, you are a traitor!" He looked so calm and composed, like nothing ever would ruffle his feathers.

Draining his cup, grimacing over dredges of tea leaves at the bottom, he answered: "This… merely feels like a brief holiday is over. I've been in danger all my life. Now, it's back to normal."

She frowned at him. "I can see the danger aspect, but your role is surely considerably different. As a spy, you were welcome on both sides. Now, you have taken a stand."

He gave her a long look, before replying: "Everyone thought I had taken a stand the last year of the war. It wasn't all roses, so to speak."

Her eyes were slowly filling with tears. _She supposed his Headmaster tenure must have been terrible for him, shunned and hated by his colleagues, trying to protect the students against the atrocities of the Carrows, students fighting him every step of the way._

But then he rose, collecting his essays, and said: "My free period is over, and no markings were completed – thanks to you. I expect to see you in my quarters after dinner to help me finish them off. You are, after all, training under me for the time being." Smirking, he added: "And by all means, tell Filius I've given you an _adult_ detention. I can't wait to see his face."

Xxxx

 _Bloody hell, why wasn't anyone told about the great escape? Why wasn't HE told?_ He couldn't see the reason, because even the Ministry couldn't be thick enough to think no one would notice. Not after the increase in killings and new sightings of supposedly imprisoned, high-ranking Death Eaters began, at least.

Granger had just left, the marking of the sixth year's Defense essays quickly and expediently done. He had enjoyed having her there with him, her quill scratching on paper, and her wicked little grin as she had spelled her handwriting to look like his. "I'll try to be as, errr…, assiduous in my evaluations of the essays as you are, Professor," she had told him, eyes glinting mischievously. He had snorted at that, but after a while, he had to still his curiosity, moving to stand behind her to read what she wrote. _And Merlin, those students would believe him to be in the foulest mood ever_. He had chuckled, and as she had twisted in her chair to look up at him, he had very much enjoyed the sight of her breasts straining against her tight shirt.

Now, he was reclining in his favorite, black leather wingback chair in front of the fire, a tumbler of Firewhisky in his hand. The fire chased the chill of the dungeons from his room, but he could still feel the remnants of cold creeping from the stone walls. It was definitely time for another chat with the castle, to keep the fires in his quarters going non-stop all winter. He sighed. Bloody stubborn, silly castle. He was willing to swear, it hadn't acted up so often last year, making so much trouble for Minerva.

This new situation with the Azkaban escape would put him in a very demanding position, and from now on, covering all his responsibilities would be extremely difficult. _Dangerous. Delicate_ . He felt his heart pumping faster already, that old rush of adrenaline making him alert. There were people involved, people that trusted him, looked up to him, that were dependent on him, his silence, his actions. He had to be careful, too much hinged on his discretion. And now he could prepare for this, thanks to Granger imparting her knowledge. Lives would be different, plans would have to change, if only he kept his secrets. After all, they weren't his secrets alone. _And he would respond to that letter. He’d accept that challenge, go with it, and win._

He rather relished the fact that Granger came to him for comfort and advice. There were so many things he'd like to teach her, not all of them considered wholesome or … good. He smiled to himself, enjoying how the Firewhisky burned on its way down his throat. _Just like that, a little pain to feel alive._

Xxxx

Come weekend, Snape was once again gone. As she counted on him to check her food for love potions, she ticked off to herself that he'd been away eight weekends out of the eleven weeks of the term. What was he doing with his time off? She had never noticed him being away when she was a student, but maybe he liked to have some time for himself. Smiling a little, she envisioned Snape mountain-hiking or shopping for ingredients or artifacts in Paris. Or, he could be off, barhopping and sleeping around for all she knew. Her smile faltered.

Taking a bit of fresh air in a secluded spot in the courtyard – she didn't dare to go far out in the grounds alone anymore – she heard Heron and Byror talking in hushed voices.

"It's got to be him. All evidence points to him. He's one hell of a nasty bastard, and he's dead powerful," Francis Heron said with determination.

"You might be right," Cato Byror said slowly. "He was in You-know-who's Inner Circle, his right hand man, and he knows everything there is to know about all the Death Eaters."

Hermione froze. _Were they talking about Snape again? What was wrong with these wizards, were they jealous of his war hero status? Or did they know something?_

"Yes!" exclaimed Francis. "And he could trick anyone. He tricked either Dumbledore or You-know-who, or maybe he played both sides. He might have taken the opportunity to set himself up as the new leader when You-know-who was offed. Those death threats that he purportedly receives? It might be a sham, he's awfully clever."

"And he did kill Dumbledore," Cato said. "All the old teachers feel bad for being nasty to him the last year of the war, so now he's almost a saint in their eyes, even though he still is an evil git. Have you tried saying anything against him when he's not there? Everyone defends him, though no one likes him. He has manipulated the public view of him to his benefit."

"Absolutely, though he still acts like an arrogant, cantankerous prat to everyone. Except Granger – he seems to like her," Francis said with a small amount of bitterness. "Do you think she's letting him shag her?"

She gasped, feeling angry, both on behalf of Snape and herself. Readying herself to confront those two idiots, wand in hand, she stopped herself as the voices moved away. _Don't attack colleagues, don't hex them, don't jeopardize your Apprenticeship_ , she ground out to herself. The last she heard of them, was Cato saying:

"I don't know, but I can see why he's interested – that luscious body, those bouncy tits…"

She swallowed her anger. Sighing, she thought about what they were saying. She didn’t want to believe it, but they had a point. _Snape would be a perfect candidate as the new leader of the Death Eaters. If those morons could see it, more people were bound to have the same idea, and what with the seemingly lack of trust the Ministry had in Snape's information… She had to write to Harry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy b-day to our favourite heroine! :-D


	9. The Real Headmaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Hagrid's joy and Snape's disbelief, she put a hand on their thighs and commanded bossily: "Move over."
> 
> Hagrid made room for her, while Snape sat stock still, staring at her hand on his thigh, as she settled between them, squeezing into a tight fit between the two wizards. Then their eyes met, and she removed her hand quickly, suddenly feeling awkward as his black eyes bored into her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra chapter this week, because I'm on vacation. (Yes, I know: lucky me. *grins*)

**_The Daily Prophet, 15 November:_ **

_– In the light of the recent, horrible events, we must strengthen the privileges of the Aurors, says the venerable Wizengamot member Harold Greengrass. – In the dire situation we're facing, it's important that the Aurors are allowed to defend themselves the best way possible._

_– I can't comment on that, says Head of Auror Office, Kingsley Shacklebolt, before his face breaks out into a wistful smile. From his expression, it's easy to read that the acclaimed war hero would think it reassuring if the Aurors could use Unforgivables to fight the Death Eaters._

_– Though I feel for everyone who's lost a family member, I believe this is a dangerous path to tread, says Wizengamot member Andromeda Tonks, who lost her daughter and son-in-law during the war. – By all means, I believe the Auror Office should be strengthened, but not by Unforgivables. That would only lead to more hatred, not to mention putting a moral strain of the Aurors. There's no need to fight as dirty as the Death Eaters._

_– Bollocks! Greengrass snorts, as a comment to Tonks. – This is romanticizing peace at its worst. The Death Eaters can only be fought on equal terms, and that means being allowed to pull an Avada if a Death Eater tries to kill you._

* * *

The next morning, the post owls swooped in, dropping Harry's letter into her tea. Groaning, she fished it out, drying the wet parchment quickly, but left opening the scroll for later. _The content wouldn't be for other people’s eyes_ , she thought grimly, averting her eyes from Snape. Instead, she rolled out the Prophet, giving a deep sigh as the headline read: “ _Muggle commuter train derails at high speed, Ministry suspects Death Eater involvement. 43 dead, 156 injured_ ”.

Minerva's furious muttering of "ludicrous! How can they say they merely suspect it, this is as clear as the day!" made her look up, nodding in agreement as she met the Headmistress' eyes. As the main picture showed the Dark Mark quite clearly hovering above the train, she quite agreed. _Why did the Ministry always try to cover things up? It was blatantly clear to anyone that this was the work of dark wizards._

The pictures from the press conference proved her point, as a scowling, shifty-eyed Kingsley Shacklebolt continuously tried to sneak out of the pictures, while the dejected figure of the Minister Croaker sat slumped on a chair, tiredly waving his hands to get the next question from the reporters. Hermione rather thought Kingsley, with his honesty and integrity, had to feel awful about the stupid subterfuge of the Ministry, but she guessed he was forced to go along with it. She wondered though, how Harry was holding up. _Her hot-headed friend would not be pleased if he had to lie about Death Eater attacks._

The students were shifting uneasily, muttering, and someone was sniffling. At least this time, she thought, no students had lost their family. Then it hit her, and she looked down, stricken. _How could she even think like that? These people were someone's family, someone's beloved. The fact that she didn't know anyone who had suffered the loss this time, did not make it better_ ! The guilt was like a punch to her gut, and she wrung her hands in her lap. _She was a horrible, horrible person._

Giving Snape a quick look, she saw him frowning at the newspaper, and this time, he looked worried. _This wasn't the look of a triumphant leader, who saw the results of his minions' handiwork. It looked simply like a man deeply disturbed by the terrible news, just like anyone else would be._

Having lost her appetite, she hurried to her quarters to read Harry's letter. It was short, concise and to the point, written in Harry's messy handwriting: 

“Sorry, can't tell you. Take care. H.”

Taking a deep breath, she stared at her reflection in the large mirror in her bedroom. _It was true, then. The Ministry really did suspect Snape, or else Harry would have denied it_. Smiling to herself, she knew that Harry had as good as told her. _He really was a good friend, the best she’d ever get._

Wandering the hallways to get to the Potions classroom for her first opportunity to teach Snape's Potion class on her own, she pondered her situation. _What to do with her newfound knowledge? Was she and the rest of the school in any danger? If the Ministry thought Professor Snape had set himself up as the next Dark Lord, why would they let him teach children? But somehow, she couldn't make herself believe that Snape was really evil. It felt like she had already been there, done that just a short while ago – and then he had proved himself as a courageous hero. This was awful. She had to do something, find out what he was doing, as the Ministry did nothing at all – and preferably prove his innocence_! 

With a new-found spring in her steps, she hurried to his office. _Nothing like a mission to energize herself! Though, the man himself would probably not be so amenable to be saved - not to mention being spied upon._

Stopping short, she groaned to herself. _He was a master of Legilimency. Chances were high that he'd catch a glimpse of her mission if he looked into her mind._ Suddenly nerves set in – she was no Occlumens, and certainly no match for his Legilimency. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she felt sweat break out on her back. _Gods, he'd be so angry. He didn’t strike her as someone who wanted to be saved._

Xxxx

The students were quietly chattering as they prepared their ingredients, some already starting their brewing. The seventh-years were happy with their task, as a Memory Potion was highly useful when studying for a test. _He looked forward to seeing Granger attempt to confiscate all the phials they would try to sneak out of the classroom_.

However, he didn’t like her laxity in letting them talk too much while they brewed. _That could easily lead to a slip of concentration and severe accidents_. Frowning at the class, he decided to give her a hint. As he pushed gently at her mind, she looked up in confusion, and then her eyes fell on him, widening, looking panicky. With a grimace – _she was obviously scared of what he'd find in her mind, like he hadn't understood she was a spy a long time ago_ – he broke into her mind with a thrust, and she gasped.

Well inside, he blinked. _It was exactly like a well-ordered library: Shelves with labeled memories, neatly placed like books in alphabetical order_. Grinning to himself, he realized that he could find virtually anything in here, just by strolling along the shelves to find the right subject, letter and label. Resisting his acute desire to go look up "desire", he talked to her like he had planned to.

"Granger," he said, his voice sounding oddly displaced as it reverberated through the chambers of her mind. "The students will cause accidents if you let them talk this much. They're not watching their potions or reading the instructions properly."

"Well, sir, I believe they will relax if they are allowed to talk a little, and some of them might do better if they're not so nervous."

He groaned, and said impatiently: "Potion is not Charms or Transfiguration, Granger. A brew gone wrong can easily wipe out the entire class. Have you any idea of the accident rate Professor Slughorn had? I will not allow you to ruin my clean streak of no deaths or loss of limbs. You must rein them in, or else I'll do it for you. I'd prefer not to interfere with your authority."

She was silent for a moment, and then she answered snippily: "Yes, sir. Now please stop invading my mind."

Xxxx

In the afternoon, she strolled outside to catch the last rays of the feeble, November sunlight. Finding a secluded spot by the wall, overlooking the ground, she enjoyed seeing the ground sparkle with a fierce layer of diamond-hard frost.

Tucking herself into her favorite nook, she set a warming charm and pulled out her book, ‘ _Equations for the Future’_ by Tony Remanddero, second class Order of Merlin, leader of the Arithmancer's Guild.

For a long time, her mind existed solely in the text, burning through the arguments and theories at breakneck speed, and she barely registered any noises from her surroundings. 

Suddenly, her attention sprang to life, as the Headmistress hissed close by: "Severus! You will do it, there are no other possibilities. When I retire next year, you must step up! The castle won't accept anyone else, and you know it."

There was a rustling sound, like an abrupt turn had made the wearer's robe swirl, and Professor Snape's deep voice replied, laced with irritation and scorn: "Are you deaf, witch? I told you and the Board no in no uncertain terms last year, and you must be deliberately obtuse if you think I've changed my mind."

A derisive snort came from the Minerva, and she countered: "You accepted to step up if we couldn't find a way around the castle's will. After one and a half years, I think it's safe to say the castle is more than determined. It fights me every step of the way, and you know it. You still do all the warding, all seasonal adjustments and all repairs. The castle has decided: You are the real Headmaster, Severus. I want to retire, and I need you to do your duty."

Hermione stared wide-eyed and unseeing at her book. _She had always suspected the castle to be sentient, but still. Refusing the change of Headmaster? That made it more like a … being, than a magical object._

"Depending on who it is, I might help the next in line, too," Snape said, amusement clearly audible in his voice.

Minerva snorted. "The new Headmaster might object, though. I'm Headmistress in name only, the castle won't even permit me to set my own passwords to my office doors. It's crippling, that's what it is, Severus. You need to take up the responsibility."

"Surely you can stay on for another year," he said. "You aren't that decrepit yet, are you, Minerva? What are you, 64 years old? A mere youngster considering Albus was still going strong at 115." His voice was sly, and Hermione could tell he was determinately goading the Headmistress.

To her surprise, McGonagall didn't take the bait. Instead, she merely sighed deeply, saying: "Severus, I don't want to give the rest of my life and my old age to Hogwarts. I've been here for 43 years, during two wars and I’ve seen more students than I can count. Now, I want to do something solely for myself, to see my family more often. Malcolm has asked me to join in on building up his brewery, and I would like that very much. You know, getting to know my family better."

"I wouldn't know anything about that, Minerva," Snape said, his rich voice taking on a bitter note. "But I do follow you on doing something for yourself. Maybe I should do that too. Quit Hogwarts, letting the new Head win over the castle without me as a distraction."

Minerva gasped, a shocked, loud sound: "You can't do that, Severus! It would be a disaster!"

"Watch me," he said darkly, and Hermione heard his heavy boots crunch the frozen ground as he left.

"That dratted man," McGonagall muttered. "I know he'll come around, he always does. He won't leave the students unprotected. Especially not now." The Headmistress continued mumbling under her breath as she stomped off.

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, her book forgotten. _Either Snape was innocent and would keep up the protection of the castle, students and teachers alike, or everyone at Hogwarts was in mortal danger, and she couldn't find it in her to believe just that. It was much more likely that he still was the one protecting the students, just like he had done for years._

Through his trial at the Wizengamot, they had all watched the memories he had given when he was close to dying in the Shrieking Shack. _It was hard to believe that those memories were untrue, because how devious could a dying man really be, poisoned and choking on his own blood, giving away false memories only to clear his name from charges? It was illogical, that's what it was. Her gut feeling told her Snape was on the side of the Light. And McGonagall seemed to hold the same sentiment. That held a considerable weight in her opinion. Still, she needed proof._

Xxxx

Monday morning, he secretly watched her sipping the coffee in his office. Her robes were open, showing off a tight, black skirt wrapped around her hips and thighs, and a purple button-down shirt. He couldn’t help wondering if she had any idea how beautifully sculpted her body was. 

It certainly seemed like she didn't know, what with her silly complaints of not attracting wizards – _the very idea was ridiculous, really_ – but somehow, he thought she had to be aware of her own charms. _Or, maybe she was just a great actress. After all, she was supposed to be a spy_. He snorted to himself, internally shaking his head at himself for his preoccupation with the chit. _Suddenly, horribly, he became aware that she was watching him, watching her._

She looked slightly amused, and then she threw him completely with her question: "Professor, what do you do, when you're spending almost all your weekends away from Hogwarts?"

He stared at her, feeling totally unprepared for her question, but his routine saved him, and he said, impassively: "Why do you care, Granger?"

At that, she stiffened, but she still met his gaze, and responded defiantly: "I'm just curious. As you check my food for love potions, I notice when you're away."

He arched his eyebrow at her, and said truthfully in a bland tone: "I want some time for myself. I've had it with doing the biddings of others through twenty years, and now, I just want to be left alone."

The chit had the grace to blush, but she pointed out: "People are talking, and wonder what you do."

_Yes, you do, little Gryffindor tell-all spy_ , he thought, _but with such lack of subtlety, you'll never find out_. Out loud, he said: "Aren't you a little careless, asking those questions?"

To her credit, she looked genuinely confused, but the conversation was interrupted by a knock on his door. Three Slytherin second years had been in a fist fight. Grumbling to himself, he vowed to teach them how a proper Slytherin fought. _And by that, he did not mean just physically._

Xxxx

It was already December, and the staff celebrated Hagrid's birthday down in his hut. He had baked rock cakes enough to feed a small army, brewed a rather nice ale, and thankfully, the House-elves had supplied additional cakes and snacks.

"How do you do it?" Minerva whispered to Hermione, as her rock cake slowly disappeared like she was actually eating.

"Vanishing piece by piece, "Hermione muttered back, hiding a smile at Minerva's moonstruck face. Then the Headmistress laughed wheezily, and patted her shoulder, saying: "Lovely idea, Hermione. I wish I had thought about that forty years ago. It might have saved me a tooth or two." Her smile was self-deprecating and amused.

Having the entire staff over made the hut seem tiny and bursting at the seams. People were crammed in the living room, spilling out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. Trays of cakes, chocolates and snacks were passed around, and crates with iced butterbeer were continually refilled. House-elves served a red, delicious Elf-wine from Llys-Helig and Ogden's Firewhisky. Minerva and Filius had, to Hagrid's delight, worked together to Transfigure and Charm a full set of baby dragons from all known species as a birthday present. Now, the tiny little things were zooming about, spitting little streams of fire, trying to nick sweets and chocolate from the party-goers.

After a while, Hermione felt her legs and feet ache from standing. She had donned her highest heels for the evening, and wore her best black robe, opened to show off her short, black dress with a high collar. In front her mirror, she had felt smashing, but confronted with the ogling stare of Cato Byror, she felt stupid for dressing up. It would have been better to wear a sack of burlap, if that could have prevented him from following her around. _Thank Merlin, Francis Heron was patrolling the castle for the evening, which meant she had only one of them to contend with. Besides, Francis had been somewhat subdued lately, after being found naked with Batsheda in the staff room after the Halloween party._

Ducking underneath Cato's arm _again_ , as he gave her a sleazy compliment _yet again_ , she quickly weaved in and out of the crowd, escaping into Hagrid's bedroom. The small room was packed, with Septima Vector, Rolanda Hooch, plus Aurora Sinistra and Transfiguration teacher Marius Gewerryn, their relationship now official. Professor Snape chatted with Hagrid, the two wizards sitting beside each other, taking up almost the entire bed. Taking a look behind her, she saw Cato doggedly entering the bedroom. Her lips thinned, and she decided quickly: _Propriety could be damned._

To Hagrid's joy and Snape's disbelief, she put a hand on their thighs and commanded bossily: "Move over."

Hagrid made room for her, while Snape sat stock still, staring at her hand on his thigh, as she settled between them, squeezing into a tight fit between the two wizards. Then their eyes met, and she removed her hand quickly, suddenly feeling awkward as his black eyes bored into her.

Turning to Hagrid, trying to ignore the surprising heat of Snape's thigh and shoulder pressed against her, she said: "Lovely birthday party, Hagrid."

He beamed at her, saying: "Tha' yeh all came, it means the world teh me, Hermione. An' Harry an' Ron sent me summat too, a set of claw trimmers for Hippogriffs! This is…" the giant sniffled, "so, yeh know, making me so happy…"

She stroked his arm, smiling back at him, telling him softly: "We love you, Hagrid, you know that."

It was the wrong thing to say, she immediately understood, as Hagrid almost burst into tears.

"Have a chocolate," Snape interrupted, brandishing a box of decidedly Muggle confectionery in front of Hagrid.

"Oh, yeah, maybe tha'…" Hagrid trailed off, wiping his eyes with a giant fist, then gingerly picking out a milk chocolate with almonds on top. "Thanks, Severus, it was so thoughtful of yeh ter buy me favorite, Muggle chocolates, yeh shouldn'ta..."

Hermione stared from one to the other. _Professor Snape giving Hagrid his favorite brand of Muggle sweets? That was almost … nice, if the word was possible to combine with the snarky, cantankerous man beside her. One more point in favour of Snape being a good man_ , she noted.

Hagrid chewed happily on his chocolate, and Snape leaned in to her, his mouth almost brushing her ear, sending delicious little tingles down her body. _Gods, it's only natural, it has been so long for me, it has nothing to do with the fact that I keep having those dreams_ , **_not at all_** , she thought adamantly, refusing to think about her vivid dreams – _now plural_ – concerning the dark wizard currently pressed against her.

Snape whispered: "Don't set him off like that. The idea, Granger, is ... not … to ruin his night."

Then Byror was standing in front of them, peering curiously at her, saying: "There you are, Hermione! I was looking for you…"

And suddenly, she felt Snape's arm around her shoulder, clutching her possessively, curling his fingers around her arm, his mouth still impossibly close to the shell of her ear.

"Have a chocolate, Byror," he said dismissively, "I'm sure Hagrid will let you indulge." In his voice, she could hear the sneer that had to be on his face.

The older junior Potion teacher stared at the younger Potions Master, and Byror pressed his lips tightly together, scowling at Snape. Hermione almost couldn't believe it: _Professor Snape was clearly helping her to handle Cato Byror. That was another odd, but pleasant surprise_ . Hesitantly, she leaned back into Snape's arm, and she could feel his arm twitch almost imperceptibly around her. _Oh well, she wouldn't push it, he was obviously not quite comfortable with it. Still, she felt grateful._

"I see, Professor Snape, I see," Cato said dangerously. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Snape's expression shifted, from his usual arrogant sneer into something smug. _Oh mother Morgana, he wasn't about to join the competition between those two berks concerning her? Because if he was…_ She swallowed, feeling her belly suddenly clench and wetness started pooling between her legs. His steady breath against her ear made goosebumps break out. _Get a grip, Hermione! The man is only helping you out. He has no interest in you whatsoever!_

"Suit yerself," Hagrid said, waving the box at Byror, "take yer pick."

Cato took the box, stared at it, and then he looked at her, a half-smile on his face. "Do you like chocolate, Hermione?"

"Absolutely," she said. "I could live on chocolate." Struck by inspiration, she added with a smile: "But I do prefer the dark ones."

Cato's eyes flashed dangerously, and he gave a shake of his head, causing his blond hair to fall into his eyes. She could almost swear she felt Snape's breath hitch, his face almost buried in her hair.

"There's so many different sorts," Cato said to Hagrid, "do you mind if I browse the box a little more? I'm not familiar with this brand."

"Take yer time. Yeh wouldn'ta know, o' course, bu' these are Muggle-made. Severus was so kind as ter buy me this, they're me favourite," Hagrid rumbled. "Fer meself, it's diff'cult ter get hold of 'em. I can' walk into a Muggle store just like tha'. I'm too big, yeh see."

"I can imagine," Cato said absently, as he turned halfway from them, hand trailing over the box. Then he suddenly turned back, stuffing a toffee in his mouth, and thrust the box at Hermione.

"Here you go, have your pick of the dark stuff," he said with a nasty smile and stalked off.

"Strange fellow," Hagrid said in a whisper, carrying throughout the room. "Stay away from that one, Hermione, I feel there's summat not right about him."

She couldn't agree more, but felt that it was imprudent to say it out loud in a room full of colleagues. Colleagues, who at the moment were almost craning their necks to look at her and Snape. Blushing slightly, she looked down into the box of chocolate. Still ensconced in the hook of the Professor's arm, she turned to Snape, saying: "And which one is your favorite, sir?"

"That one", he pointed to one of the two, remaining dark chocolates.

"Take it," she said with a smile, and helped herself to the other one. "Mmm, they're delicious," she mumbled.

Snape popped the last one in his mouth, chewed once, twice, and his eyes filled with horror. His grip on her arm strengthened, bordering on painful, and he croaked out: "Granger, I need your help, quickly! Silence me, Lock my arms, and lead me to my quarters. There's Amortentia in this!"

Her mouth fell open, but she rapidly fired off the spells, grabbed his arm and rose from the bed.

"Hagrid," she said calmly, "Professor Snape is ill. I'll help him back to the castle, and I'll be back shortly."

"Tha's kind of yeh, Hermione," her friend said, but looking a little confused, "bu' shouldn' I alert the new matron?"

Snape shook his head vigorously, and she said: "I guess not, Hagrid. We'll be alright."

Feeling the stares of their colleagues clustered in the bedroom, she ushered Snape into the main room, immediately Disillusioning him and herself to avoid more questions from their co-workers. She took Snape's hand, and he followed her willingly, staying very close to her.

They made it outside and into the castle, but she noted Snape keeping closer and closer to her, until he almost rubbed up against her. _What was this? Was the Amortentia keyed to her? It would be a sick joke indeed to feed Hagrid with that. Why would someone do that? Irritated, she thought that the two prime suspects would be Snape and Byror. And why would Snape be so stupid as to eat his own concoction? That didn't make sense at all_. _Byror, on the other hand…_ Her brows furrowed in anger.

When they reached the door to Snape's office, he looked expectantly at her, and she unraveled the Silencing spell for him to dismantle the wards. The first thing he said, though, was unexpected. His voice was impossibly deep, silky and brimming with want.

"Gods, Granger, I've wanted to fuck you for so long. Did you know I spend the staff meetings fantasizing about your lovely, firm tits? I usually picture you taking me in your sweet, succulent mouth, licking my cock lasciviously, sucking me off with those pouty lips, and then I finish by spraying my semen over those perky, firm breasts, coating your hard nipples, turning them into dripping, little spires, glazing your chest. And then I continue to taste you, lick your delicious cunt until you scream for me."

She gasped with shock, feeling fire ignite in her belly at his dirty, dirty words, and his eyes glinted devilishly at her. "You didn't know that, eh? First things first, we've got to get inside." He turned to the door, saying what had to be his password: " _Bellamorte_ ," and the door opened slowly.

Swallowing, she followed him inside, furiously reciting her knowledge of Amortentia to herself. _It was the strongest love potion in the world, it was usually keyed to a specific person, it induced love, not merely lust, there was no need for a previous relationship between the two partners, people intoxicated by the potion did all sorts of strange things to impress the object of their love…_ Feeling an ounce of relief, she realized that Snape wasn't necessarily telling the truth, he would just say whatever he thought would get her attention. _Then, on the other hand, why he'd think that this would be the way to go about it, was baffling._

Well into his office, he stopped, pulling her into his arms as soon as the door closed. Her heart raced suddenly, and those flutters she had felt in her belly grew to deep tremors and her breath picked up, heart thudding in her chest. Snape backed her up to his desk, dark eyes locked on her face, and he bent her backwards, his hair brushing her face. As his mouth descended to hers, she gasped out: "Accio Hate Potion!"

With a bang, one of the cupboards opened, and a small phial came flying out. She grabbed it in her hand, but then his lips crashed down on hers. Her whole body trembled, and he was almost shaking too, kissing her in a frenzy, thrusting his tongue deep in her mouth, devouring her. She couldn't help but kiss him back, whimpering with sheer want, feeling almost boneless in his arms. Between her legs, slickness pooled, and her clit pulsed in anticipation, making her writhe against him.

A very large, throbbing erection ground slowly against her stomach, and his hand came up, stroking her sides, before one hand crept up to her left breast, teasing her nipple, his thumb slowly moving in circles, occasionally flicking the bud sharply, making pleasure radiate into her belly. His other hand snaked up her thigh, twisting underneath her dress, moving up to the apex of her thighs, brushing slowly, deliciously, against the fabric of her knickers. Moaning out loud as his fingers touched her clit, she knew he had to feel that she was soaking wet, _and yes_ , she felt him smiling triumphantly, lips still firmly pressed against her mouth.

She gasped, as his fingers stroked her slit, but when he pushed her knickers aside, she stiffened.

_Gods, this was so good, she wanted to continue, but that would be taking advantage of him, as if she had drugged him to take advantage of him…_ **_He_ ** _wouldn't really want this. It was all wrong_. Groaning to herself, she wrenched free, slipping through his grasp and pushed him against the desk instead. Standing between his legs, she tried to avoid staring at the obvious and massive erection tenting his robes. _That thing … was obviously a monster_. And she felt her sex quiver in need by the thought.

"Close your eyes, open up your mouth," she whispered seductively at him, and he obeyed. Quickly, she tipped the Hate potion that would nullify the Amortentia into his mouth. His eyes shot open, he gasped and trembled violently, and then he blinked slowly twice.

Xxxx

He felt embarrassment flush over him. _Gods no, what had he done?_ Horrified, he looked down at Granger, her lips swollen and pouty from his kiss, she was standing so close to him that her stomach almost touched his raging hard-on. He had kissed her, ravaged her, really, and if she hadn't gotten hold of the antidote, he'd most certainly have… _Salazar's bollocks, this was a near-miss rape. There was no chance in hell for Granger to let him… Merlin, he had to apologize._

Frustrated and appalled at his potions-induced actions, he drew a hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, before he felt as if he stammered. But what came out, of course, was the measured cadences of his spy-trained voice: "I'm sorry, Granger. I shouldn't have put you through that, and I hope you can forgive me for forcing myself on you. I can assure you, I would never assault you like that of my own free will."

She was blushing to the roots of her hair, and her gaze was locked on his chest. "It doesn't matter, sir, I know it was the potion. Don't be sorry, this could easily have been me. Only, I would probably not have recognized the brew and reacted so quickly."

Feeling tendrils of relief spiraling outwards, he noted that the shame he felt thankfully had made his cock soften. _Really, did the girl look disappointed? His memory of the event was hazy by his potion-induced frenzy, but surely she couldn't have wanted this, or..?_ Exhaling deeply, he said, sounding almost idiotically cheerful to his own ears: "I believe you wouldn't attack me like that, Granger."

She gave him a brief, crooked smile, saying: "I wouldn't know. I've never dared to try…" Her face seemed suddenly drawn and bitter, and she continued, softly to herself: "I’ve never dared to make a fool of myself by engaging in consensual play with love potions as many people do. There's always an aftermath, and when you know it's not real, it would just be disappointing and embarrassing."

He gave her a searching glance, trying to understand what was going on in her mind – and the lure of Legilimency had never been greater. _No, he couldn't. She would notice._

Instead, he said: "Surely, as this year has shown, you have plenty of admirers." And by that, he started chuckling. Granger gave him a quick look, a mix of surprise and a deep hurt on her face, like she thought he was laughing at her.

Still chuckling, but with a grimace on his face, he said: "Byror, that fucking idiot. If he doesn't know how to dress an Amortentia properly, he isn't worth his pay."

Her eyebrows shot almost into her hairline, and he felt the need to explain more: "I suppose he injected the chocolate with Amortentia, hoping that you would eat it. By all rights, he should have dressed the potion with a drop of his blood. Thank Merlin he didn't, or else I would have made a right mess of it all, going after him." The thought made him almost sick, not that he had anything against gays, not at all, but he really, really couldn't stand that worthless piece of shit.

"Oh," she said. Then, slowly: "I thought it was targeted at me. I was worried Byror had rigged it to make Hagrid…" she stopped, suddenly, before continuing: "For what it was worth, I'm glad it was you."

"Ah, well." He had no idea what to make of that, and a voice in his head chanted _Legilimens, Legilimens_! He forced it down, noticing she still was standing between his legs. She had kissed him back, he was almost sure, as sure he could be considering his frenzied state earlier. _And gods, had she been wet when he had touched her…?_ His hopeful cock twitched slightly, but he squashed any notions it had of trying to continue the show.

Then she said, brow furrowing: "I can't remember reading anything about an undressed Amortentia. What does it actually do?"

He stared at her before replying, feeling that it would be useless to lie to his resident know-it-all, she would just go straight to the library and check the facts for herself: "One of two things: Either you latch on to the person closest to you, or it magnifies a love interest, or a more carnal interest, that you already harbour." _And in my case_ , his foolish brain added, _it's both_.

Her mouth quirked, and she said: "So, if Hagrid had still been sitting beside you…?"

Glaring at her, he said: "I believe in my case, I would have latched on to the closest female, but that, of course, could have been different if Byror had spiked it properly."

He reined himself in. _This was no way to thank her for saving him from utter humiliation in front of the entire staff_. "Granger, I must return the compliment. Other people might not have been so helpful. I'm just sorry that this was forced upon you. You probably have found a young wizard in Hogsmeade by now, and this was the last thing you'd want to happen…" This time, it was his own voice that was laced with bitterness.

But Granger barked a short, cynical laugh, saying curtly: "No. Did you know, you were dead right about me, all those years ago? No one is interested in me, because I am a know-it-all. And that, apparently, is a turn-off for most wizards, unless they are idiots like Byror. And Heron," she added. Giving him a sarcastic grin, she said: "I envision my future here, at Hogwarts, as a single teacher, with lots of books and cats for company."

He shrugged, and drawled: "You're very young. When you're sixty, you'll laugh at this, sitting with your own little clan of grandchildren around you."

Her mouth quirked, and she countered, leaning forward, supporting her hands on his thighs: "What will you be doing when you're eighty?"

He stilled. _Eighty? He had never expected to turn forty, but that day was approaching fast._

She continued, looking amused: "Maybe we'll have tea in the staffroom together – with my cats."

By that, she finally withdrew from him, saying: "I need to go back to Hagrid's. You'll be alright, won't you?"

He nodded, and she left. _Merlin, he was thankful she hadn't discovered his renewed erection. He needed a good wank. She had been wet. She had. He knew it. Gods, that witch had to be desperate, but so was he. Such a shame their contact was all due to her job spying on him. But maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe he could have it all, if he played his cards right._


	10. Passable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He took a moment to compose himself, sipping his coffee. Then he said slowly: "To make this clear, you Obliviated Heron, to protect my reputation?"
> 
> "Yes," she whispered.

**_The Daily Prophet, 7 December_ **

_Death Eater Jugson delivered dead and frozen at star-reporter Rita Skeeter's home by Muggle Grocery Express!_

_\- I don't know why I'm targeted like this, says a shaken Skeeter, after the second Death Eater turned up dead literally under her nose, stuffed into a crate that the Muggle delivery chauffeur believed to contain frozen cod. – These are high-ranking profiles in the Death Eater community too, and I can only wonder if someone wants a special kind of publicity. It seems suspicious, and I believe this is the Ministry's doing, trying to maximize PR after they've unlawfully killed Death Eaters without trials._

_\- What preposterous nonsense, snorts Ministry spokeswitch Marigold Lebennon. – We would have rejoiced publicly if we had caught a war criminal, not starting a crack-brained scheme to deliver them dead to a reporter. All war criminals will go on trial, and if the Aurors had killed someone in action, we would inform the public of that too. The Ministry has nothing to hide._

* * *

The details were gruesome, but still the _Prophet_ happily printed the fact that the man seemed to have been suffocated by his own, cut-off cock, complete with a picture of his frozen visage, his mouth stretched wide open around something resembling a bloodied sausage. Hermione swallowed her bile, as she forced herself to chew her dry toast slowly. Around her, she heard students and teachers alike making retching sounds. _What was wrong with the Prophet? Didn't the editor understand that no one would like to see such images?_

A Hufflepuff first-year vomited all over her breakfast, and Pomona Sprout hurried off to take care of it, huffing at the idiocy of the press. Glancing at Snape, Hermione saw him stare at the picture with something she could only describe as satisfaction.

"You knew him, too," she stated quietly, and he looked up at her. Suddenly, his sallow cheeks flushed, and he turned his gaze down to the paper again, like he too was thinking about their … encounter … the previous night. 

"He was a vicious beast, and he certainly deserved to die," he said curtly.

"Yes," she said, pondering: _How long had Jugson's corpse been kept frozen, either by Muggle means or with a Freezing Charm? She remembered Snape returning to the castle with injuries. Could he have been the one killing Dolohov and Jugson, delivering them to Skeeter to ensure it would be in the paper? Or was he involved with them, somehow, punishing them for transgressions or, as he had said, power scuffles? Not many would be able to take out fully trained, ruthless Death Eaters_. _Certainly, that someone would have to_ _be powerful, like a seasoned Auror or a hardened Death Eater. Snape fit the bill just perfectly. But if he was the Dark leader, why would he off his own people? Voldemort had done so, but he was a maniac, while Snape clearly wasn't. Him being the leader just didn't add up._

Xxxx

"I'm here for my performance assessment," she said. To his ears, her voice was a little querulous.

"Right, Granger," he replied, aiming for cool and calm, not flustered like he felt. _Yesterday, after she left, he had come twice to the hazy memory of groping her, and now she was here for her evaluation of her training period._

"I'll make it brief." It wasn't an everyday occurrence to give an assessment to a witch he had snogged the night before. In fact, out of sheer professionalism, he hoped it would never ever happen again.

"Ok, Professor," she said, eyes downcast and a slight flush to her face. The icy chill of the dungeons had seeped into his warm office when she opened the door, and he had to draw his eyes away from her nipples peeking underneath her soft, woolen sweater. Imagining running his thumbs over those hard peaks, made him clutch his mug of coffee. Closing his eyes briefly to clear the images away, he gestured for her to help herself to a mug too.

"In short, you were passable. You had sufficient control and discipline in your classes, the students were attentive and interested, and you guided them through the curriculum in a professional way."

He paused, looking at her pleased expression, and then he couldn't stop himself. _Gods, Severus Tobias Snape, are you really going to do this? Give_ ** _real praise_** _to her?_ His mouth continued talking, while his mind seemed to watch in fascinated horror: "I'd say, you can teach most Hogwarts classes anytime. I'll tell Septima that from my point of view, you should be allowed to drop the rest of your training as a teacher, instead concentrating on your thesis. That would be more useful for you at this stage."

She exhaled softly, her lips pursed slightly, and then she raised her bright, shining eyes to his face, breathing: "Wow, thank you, sir! I never expected to hear _any_ sort of praise from you."

"Well," he said gruffly, concealing his own embarrassment, "there's no need to act like I hate you anymore, is there? These days, no one can ruin my cover by telling the Dark Lord that his trusted servant gave praise to the Muggleborn friend of Potter."

"I suppose not," she said, with a faint, but triumphant smile. _He had always known, she was a sucker for approval from her teachers. And now, finally, she got it from him too._ He sighed a little in defeat. _She had definitely won this round._

She sipped her coffee, looking a little wistfully at him. "I'll miss the morning coffee, sir," she said impulsively.

He fought the heat threatening to colour his sallow cheeks – _would she miss_ **_him_ ** _too?_ – and then his mouth once again talked without his brain being in on it: "You're welcome to join me for coffee in the mornings still, Granger." _Now, why would he say something like that? He enjoyed her company for his morning indulgence, but really…_

Granger, however, lit up, and her face exploded into a big smile: "I'd love to, sir. Count me in."

Severus sighed, trying not to show he was secretly pleased by her answer. He expected her to leave, but instead she stood still, twirling a wayward golden-brown curl from her hair.

"Something else on your mind, Granger?" He was determinedly keeping his eyes on his paperwork, feigning a bored disinterest. 

"Mmm, yes. I was wondering if we could join in a little spot of revenge against Byror, sir."

Whatever he had thought she'd say, this was nowhere near the mark. "Revenge?" he asked weakly, looking up to meet her golden-flecked, brown eyes. _Sweet Salazar, had she been this beautiful before? Or was this an obscure side effect of the Amortentia?_

"Yes. What he did was rotten, to both you and me – and Hagrid too. I think he deserves a good, proverbial smack." Her eyes were flashing dangerously.

He assessed her calmly, wondering again - _just how far would she go to win his trust?_ – before he shook his head. "No, Granger. I can't do that. You, as a Golden Trio member, could probably dismember the man in public, and still walk out scot-free. I, on the other hand, am in no such position. I would be dragged to Azkaban for even the puniest form of attack."

She looked at him, bright eyes considering, and then she nodded abruptly. "I understand, they would probably take you down at the merest whiff of a curse," she said, and he nearly choked on his coffee. _Merlin, this was the very reason Gryffindors made such dreadful spies. Many of them were simply not able to lie well, blurting out the truth no matter the company and the occasion. With this, Granger as good as told him he was a suspect in the eyes of the Ministry._

He rolled his eyes, and replied: "By all means, you have my wholehearted approval to mete out revenge in any way you find prudent."

"I would like to sound out a few ideas with you," she said nervously.

Arching his eyebrow, he said: "Go ahead, as long as this doesn't make me into an accomplice." He had to admit, he felt curious about what the little goody two-shoes Gryffindor Princess thought would be a suitable revenge. Moreover, he was also impressed _. Getting revenge – it appealed more than a little to his darker side._

"The first one does, sort of, but it isn't illegal, merely unusual," she continued, blushing a bright red.

"Go on," he said, equally intrigued by her blushing and her plans for revenge. She fidgeted, fingers nervously pulling at her skirt, before continuing.

"Um, well, as you know, I have been having a bit of a problem with Byror and Heron. My biggest problem is to get them to leave me alone, as they don't take a polite no for an answer, and I don’t want to be unfriendly, as they're still going to be my colleagues. I wondered…" her voice fell to a whisper, "if I could tell them you slept with me after the potion took effect. That would irk Byror, he'd be sure to tell Heron, and it will make them stay away from me. To avoid rumours, we could tell the truth to Septima and Minerva, for example. Those two idiots would be angry, Byror will feel stupid, and I can go about my business without them bothering me."

Incredulous, he stared at her, his normally measured voice ending up as a croak: "You want to tell Byror we had sex?"

"Yes," she whispered, beet red.

"Good heavens girl, why would you say that?" he snapped, feeling _so_ very exasperated. "If you tell Minerva the truth, she'll have to take disciplinary action against Byror for unsanctioned use of Amortentia. He does deserve that, but if that's your idea for revenge, just go ahead and _tell_ her without any lies. If you spread a story of us … sleeping together, close to no one will believe it to be voluntary. Everyone, including several of our colleagues, will wonder if I've used the Imperius on you to make you go along with it. Those who don't believe that, will merely think I raped you."

"I don't think so at all…" she began protesting, but he cut her off brutally with a scowl.

"They will. Believe me, they will. This is, Granger, an ... astoundingly ... stupid idea." He had experienced too many rounds of people's lack of trust in him to willingly put himself in such a situation. _A rumour of him raping the Gryffindor Princess would spread like wildfire, slandering his name even more than he had managed to do by himself._ Though, the idea of telling those two dunderheads that he'd bedded her, was more than appealing. He had enjoyed the fury on Byror's face, when the man thought Severus actually was staking a claim to Granger at Hagrid's party. _Their reactions would be exquisite to watch, but the idea was tantamount to idiocy in the long run. Such a rumour would ruin ... everything._

Her shoulders slumped a little, before she continued, eyes downcast: "My plan B will be a bit more tricky. Are you familiar with the _Impolitio_ curse?"

"Yes," he said slowly, not grasping what she was aiming for.

"I've thought about developing the curse to be semi-permanent, like an unpleasant personality trait, unless it is removed by the counter spell, of course. It should seem like the person swears, offends and curses people entirely of their own will. By extending the duration and making the curse untraceable, no one would know it happens due to a spell. If I could make this work, Byror will, for a while, feel just as uncomfortable as he tried to make us feel. But here's the catch: The alteration is quite difficult Mind Magic, and I would like for you to check my spellwork before I try to use it, because I’m not aiming to cause permanent brain damage. You've invented several spells before, haven't you, sir?"

Baffled, he barked a laugh. "Thank Merlin, Granger, for you never joining the Dark Lord. With you on his side, he'd never have lost. This sounds like, if I must say so, a rather _dark_ spell, not something anyone would expect from someone like _you_."

Seeing it for what it was, a twisted compliment, she beamed: "You think it would work, then?" Suddenly smiling mischievously, she added: "And no, my ambition was never to off myself by trying to become the first _Muggleborn_ Death Eater."

"There's that," he conceded. Then he voluntarily offered – _damn, that's why she was an effective spy, no matter her Gryffindor bluntness, he simply_ **_wanted_ ** _to tell her things_ : "Actually, the Dark Lord was mostly interested in the power, intelligence and knowledge of his followers. I would venture to say he personally didn't give a damn about anyone's bloodline but his own, and he most certainly didn't believe in those silly ideas of Muggleborns stealing magic. If he could have wormed his way past his followers' silly prejudices, he would have loved to recruit you."

"Hah," she snorted. "I'd be killed, he'd never want anything to do with someone like me. Like you told me, I'm everything he opposed. Muggleborn witch, Harry's friend, member of the Order, remember?"

Severus smiled, hiding his face behind his hair. "Oh no, the Dark Lord would have loved to pick your brain. He enjoyed the company of powerful wizards and witches who could follow his ideas on magical theory, and you'd certainly be able to do just that. And also," his smirk became visible, "he would, of course, want to seduce you. Both figuratively to the dark side, and quite literally."

"What?" she said, aghast.

"It's not widely known outside his Inner Circle, but the Dark Lord had quite the … voracious … appetite. He would have been very eager indeed to land you in his bed." _Take that snippet back to the Ministry, and see if you can shock them_ , he thought maliciously.

The girl looked positively green, and he chuckled, pleased by her obvious revulsion. _She would have fainted, had she known that the Dark Lord seldom used violence or spells to get his witches willing, even after his resurrection, with the rather … unfortunate … lack of a nose, and what with the red eyes and skeletal frame. No one on the side of the light would ever believe that the man was charming and seductive when he wanted to. However, whenever he did go for violence, it was nothing short of vile._ Instead, he said: "Though, by a stroke of luck to both you and the wizarding world, you never tried to become a Death Eater."

"Thank Merlin," she muttered with a grimace of disgust, before shaking her head. "So, will you help me test my spell?"

 _She actually meant it. It had to be a test. Why, by Merlin's purple balls, would Hermione Granger of all people create a dark spell? This was a rather obvious attempt to entrap him into doing something illegal._ Glaring at her, he curtly refused with a vehement "no." 

It was a decent try, but he wasn't about to be hauled off to Azkaban for correcting the Golden Girl's dark spellwork. She’d have to lay a better trap for him, but he sincerely hoped she’d go through with the revenge anyway. The idea had merit, and Byror needed to be taken down a peg or two. _It would be all to the better if he didn’t have to do so himself. Still, it would have been wonderful if she genuinely meant to ask for his help, instead of this being a rather obvious trap. But such things never happened to Severus Snape. If there was one thing that had held true all his life, it was that good things **never** happened to him. _

Xxxx

As the flames turned green, she waved a fond goodbye to Minerva. The Headmistress had said with a kind smile: "Dear Hermione, you shouldn't feel like a prisoner here at Hogwarts, though the world is not a safe place for the moment. For this one occasion, you can use my Floo to Hogsmeade. I gather it would do you a world of good to get out on your own. Rosmerta will allow you to Floo back."

With a small frown, Minerva had added: "Please do be careful, and keep to the main street. Remember, wand at the ready at all times, and come straight back here after you've done your shopping!"

The reminder had made Hermione smile. _Like she was a child, a silly student, not a battle-grizzled war hero. Still, the protective care behind McGonagall's words warmed her heart._

As she entered the Three Broomsticks through the Floo, Madam Rosmerta smiled at her, having been warned beforehand by Minerva. She slipped out, ready for her secret mission: Christmas shopping, and meeting Harry back at the Three Broomsticks afterwards. _It would be lovely to get her mind off Snape's embarrassing refusal to her plan A. Hermione really wasn't sure where she had gotten the nerve to ask him, but logically, she was convinced that the plan would have worked perfectly, stopping both Byror and Heron pursuing her, and taking them both down a notch or two._

Frowning a little to herself, she rather thought that Snape had exaggerated what people would think. After all, he was the one shagging scores of witches, not _raping_ them. Anyway, she had never picked Snape as someone who cared for his reputation, not with all the things he had done during the war. Shaking the thoughts off, she tried to immerse herself in the Christmas cheer exuding from the decorations and lights from the Hogsmeade main street, and the lovely smells of freshly made gingerbreads, sugar roasted almonds and mince pies.

She was going to buy gifts for Harry, Luna and Neville, plus her colleagues. Her mood slipped a little as she remembered those gifts that she _didn't_ have to buy this year: The whole Weasley clan, half of them on less than friendly terms, the other half scared to antagonize the rest. Shaking her head, she roused herself, walking with determination towards Honeydukes. Snow drifted down, and even though it was only early afternoon, the light was already fading, leaving the streetlamps and shop windows to make pools of warm, golden light in the darkening main street.

Bustling out from the bookshop _Spines & Ink_, her Extendable bag hiding the extent of her splurge, she passed by Zonko's, before stopping in the middle of the High street, doing a double take. _Was that Professor Snape, at Zonko's of all places, smiling tenderly to himself as he lifted a play-wand off the shelf, the kind one bought for very small children? What in the world … a **play wand**? _ Those wands could serve a limited number of spells, powered by the child's magic, but restricting any possible damage and dangerous spells.

Standing still in the gently drifting snow, another glance confirmed it was indeed Snape. He had obviously chosen his gift, and carried the box with the play wand to the counter, a secretive, small smile on his face. Though, when he reached the counter, his face was all business again, the epitome of the scowling, looming Potions Master of her childhood.

She couldn't help wondering what kind of child that would bring such a fond smile on the dour man's face, because she had never picked him for one whom even _remotely_ liked children.

Then she froze, with a sinking feeling in her gut, the cold, slushy snow seeping into her boots. _Merlin Hermione,_ she thought, _sometimes two and two makes actually four. Snape was away for most weekends, and here he was, buying a Christmas gift for a child he obviously cared for. Of course, he had a child. Probably a wife too, or a lover. That's where he went all those weekends – to visit with his own family._

Quickly, she scurried off, knuckles wiping furiously at unbidden, unwanted tears, and she hid herself in Honeydukes, staring morosely at the sortiment of chocolates and candy. _Severus Snape had a family_. A secret one, but a family nonetheless. _How stupid he must have thought her, when they had kissed during the Amortentia incident._ She shivered, though her face was hot with humiliation and shame. _Morgana, she had thought he liked it, while he must have felt regret and distaste. And no wonder he had been so shocked by her proposal of revenge._ Hermione wanted to bury herself underneath the castle, never to emerge.

Her good mood was gone, and she did her Christmas shopping with a scowl worthy of the Potions Master himself, the shopkeepers smiling nervously at her. 

"Merlin, Hermione, who died?" said Harry nervously, taking in her mood, as she dumped down by the table at the Three Broomsticks. 

"No one," she said curtly, I just saw something strange that set me off. And," she said, to put Harry off track, "I miss the Weasleys."

"Oh, Hermione," he said softly, "Ginny and George would love to see you, but as I told you… Well, I think Molly has cooled off a bit, but Ron is still pretty angry with you."

She sighed, willing herself to _not_ think about Snape. "I miss Ron too," she said, and as Harry opened his mouth, she hurriedly said: "As a friend, Harry, only as a friend. Gods, let's talk about something else, or what? Any news on the Death Eaters?"

"No," Harry said, slowly, worried. "Not a single thing, and it’s disturbing. The Minister believes the leader to be someone in the Ministry, as it's clear they have access to inside information, but …" he leaned in, whispering to her: "Rumour says he might not be quite what he seems. He had a brief career in dark magic when he was young, that's how he ended up in the Department of Mysteries in the first place. Some say he knew Voldemort from before my Mum and Dad died. Kingsley is worried, I know, but he's a loyal one, not saying anything bad about his superior. Still, he's uneasy. But the Minister – I can't really believe he's like that, he seems like an okay fellow, but the rumours are persistent."

Hermione felt her eyes widen. "You don't think…" she said in a low hiss.

"I don't believe _anything_ , Hermione," Harry said firmly. "If the Auror training has taught me anything, it is that I need to be sure."

Xxxx

She felt so embarrassed, so mortified, the emotions twisting in her guts. Snape was obviously involved with someone, and she had gotten so close to becoming "the other woman" during the Amortentia event. Hermione was well aware of how painful that situation could be after her stint with Ron, and she reassured herself that she _hadn't_ known. To make someone betray their significant other – she just wasn't that kind of person. _And surely, she didn't, shouldn't, wouldn't care about Professor Snape that way, no matter her hot dreams and sexual fantasies. There was absolutely no reason for her to be disappointed for him having a life outside Hogwarts._ After a few days, she just had to share her thoughts with someone, and so she paid Hagrid a visit.

She was twirling her wand, swinging her legs on Hagrid's too big chair.

"Now, wha's up? Yeh look peevish," Hagrid said, warm, brown eyes looking searchingly at her.

"I've a bit of a problem," she said slowly. "I've fallen for a wizard, and I thought he might be interested. Then I realized he might be taken, but I'm not sure. And that's plain wrong. I don't know what to do."

"It is wrong, Hermione," Hagrid said gravely. "If he's taken, nothin' good will come outta it."

"I know," she sighed. "But it's so difficult."

"In tha' case, stay away, leave it be, it's the righ' thing ter do," Hagrid said, pushing her hair away from her brow with a large, calloused hand, patting her head. "Find yerself someone with no strings attached. Yeh deserve tha', Hermione."

Tears were pooling in her eyes, and she nodded dejectedly. As Hagrid slung his arm around her shoulder, he almost knocked the breath out of her.

"Who is it?" the giant asked her gently, wiping the tears from her cheeks with a large, calloused hand.

"Promise you won't tell anyone," she said earnestly.

"Aye," Hagrid rumbled.

"It's Professor Snape. I don't really dare to approach him, he _is_ kind of scary still."

Hagrid withdrew from her, looking confused. "Severus? I can see wha' yeh mean abou' _scary,_ but how in the name of Merlin did yeh get the idea he was taken?"

She told him of her suspicions, but Hagrid shook his head, laughing slightly. "I can tell yeh this much, Hermione, if tha' wizard had a witch and a kid, he wouldn' kep' 'em away. He'd do everythin' in his power to protect 'em, _every day._ Not just on the weekends."

Xxxx

The next letter he received was more insistent, and there was a small parcel attached to it. 

_“I know what you did. I have gathered evidence from people who saw you. It’s more than enough to land you in Azkaban, maybe even with a Dementor’s Kiss. Your betrayal will not save you from the just punishment you deserve, for all those atrocities in the name of our Lord over the years. You know what you did, and so do I. Unless…_

_Do as I say. Take my offer. Return to your rightful place.”_

The small phial of swirling white matter held - _he had no doubt_ \- a memory of himself doing something unspeakable. Even one memory - or worse, _more_ \- would be enough to condemn him, war hero, Order of Merlin First Class or no. 

Severus frowned. _Who would be so sure they could out him to the Ministry, not afraid of what he could hold over their own heads in return? Who would go free from any repercussions - who could influence any investigation?_

With a sigh, he knew his theory had to be right, and he pulled out a quill, carefully drafting a reply. _There was only one solution to this. Or else, he’d lose everything, and what would happen to the people he was responsible for then?_

_He’d have to do it again. Strangely enough, it fit so very well with his plans._

Xxxx

She felt reassured after her talk with Hagrid, but when Snape was away the next weekend too, her insecurities grew. Consequently, when Francis Heron's wheedling made her agree to have a drink on Sunday night, she accepted to get her mind on other things, other people. _It would be better than sitting alone with her thoughts, and even having a drink with Francis_ _couldn't be that horrible._ But she was wrong.

Fidgeting through their drinks at the Three Broomsticks, she was bored out of her mind. The man might be handsome, but he was so thick between his ears… _Oh well, she should at least try to see his good sides. His looks, yes, and the students seemed to tolerate him. Shame though, he couldn't seem to talk about anything but himself._

"So, I've seen quite a lot in my days as an Auror," he said, giving her a smug smile.

Trying, but failing to hide the sarcasm, she asked: "Why did you give up your, obviously _illustrious_ , Auror career to become a teacher?"

"Oh, that," he said, winking at her. "Who says my Auror career is over?"

She stared at him in disbelief, and he continued: "Who says I haven't got a task here at Hogwarts, watching over someone _very_ important, making sure that nothing untoward happens?"

 _Gods, did the man just say that he was ordered to teach here as a spy, watching over someone? How stupid could Francis be – as a spy, he shouldn't go about telling people about it! And who could that someone be? Francis had been at Hogwarts since the school reopened after the war. It_ **_had_ ** _to be Snape he was spying on._

"Does the Headmistress know?" she said weakly, and the man answered her, a little affronted: "Of course. Minerva is fully in on the plan."

 _She had wondered why Minerva had engaged someone so obviously stupid as a Defense teacher, but this explained a lot. And, it also pointed to Kingsley not taking the idea of Snape being the Dark leader seriously, or else there would have been someone far more competent watching over Hogwarts_.

Relief flooded through her, as Kingsley's opinion meant a lot to her – just like Minerva's. If Minerva knew, and **still** trusted Snape, then he was as good as innocent in Hermione's eyes. The happiness made her give Heron a wide smile, and he scooted closer to her on the bench.

Feigning a yawn, she told him she had to get up early, and they left for the castle, him looking smug, she looking forward to withdrawing to her own quarters. Just inside the gates of Hogwarts, he ambushed her, pulling her into a rough embrace, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, kissing her forcibly.

She writhed, fighting to get away, pushing at him, trying to close her mouth to repeal his advances.

Suddenly, Heron retreated hastily, backing off her with his hands raised in a placating gesture, and she scrubbed at her mouth furiously, glaring at him. As she opened her mouth to give him a scolding, she stopped short by hearing the deep, silky voice from behind her:

"Far be it from me to stop my colleagues from indulging in such pleasurable activities, but you should perhaps reconsider the location. You are now in full view of the windows from both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw common rooms. Are you sure your wanton behavior sets a good example for our young, impressionable students?"

The air was crackling with magic, dangerous, threatening, charging her hair with electricity, making it stand out. Heron looked frightened, staring at Snape behind her back, mumbling "I meant no harm, it was just a friendly kiss, nothing more, I wouldn't presume to interfere…"

The wild force of magic in the air took shape, a spell whispered past her, and Heron's eyes widened, his mouth opening in a soundless howl, body shuddering.

Hermione stared for moment at Heron, and then she quickly turned to Snape, seeing him as a menacing shape in the dark, face half obscured by his hair, mouth muttering the curse under his breath, gleaming eyes trained on Heron with a frightful intensity: _"Hallucin Cruxit, Maxima Longoturnitas e Dolores."_

He finished the incantation with a flourish of his wand, and Heron sank into a boneless heap on the ground, groaning softly, painfully.

"What did you do?" she hissed to Snape. _Heron might be an idiot, but he didn't deserve to be cursed. Besides, if anyone had the right to hex him, it was her! She was the one who had been accosted._

Slowly, Snape's eyes traveled over to her, burning black, scalding her skin. He said nothing, until he suddenly sneered, and spat out: "Finally something for you to report, eh? The ex-Death Eater losing it, throwing a curse in front of the Golden Princess. I suppose you'll be rewarded. Well done, Granger!"

He was off in a swirl of robes, and she stared dumbfounded after him. _Report? Rewarded? What in the name of Merlin was the man blathering about?_

A whimpering, pitiful sound from Heron drew her out of her musings, and she looked with disgust down at him crawling around on the snow-flecked ground. _She should feel sorry for him, but she wasn't able to. The man had forced himself on her, no one could expect her to treat him with anything resembling empathy. She should just leave him in the snow – but she couldn't. Hermione Granger_ ** _helped_** _people in need._

Gritting her teeth together, she Levitated him, floating him across the frozen grounds to the front doors, and well inside the Entrance Hall, she propped him up into a chair beside a suit of armour.

"Can you walk? Do you need the hospital wing?" she asked, impatiently.

Heron shook his head, and croaked out: "Not… the hospital wing. I'll get to my own rooms, just need a bit of rest…" His head slumped back, looking haggard, and he breathed heavily through his nose. Brown eyes imploring her, he asked timidly: "Can you support me back to my quarters? I need help."

She nodded, mouth thinning, and took his arm un-gently, dragging him along. Slowly, they moved across the hall and in the direction of Heron's chambers in the Ravenclaw tower, no one noticing the dark shadow observing them from the entrance to the dungeons.

Xxxx

Severus tossed and turned in his sleep, sweat breaking out, trying to hold back the howl that wanted to break free from his lips…

 _… because_ _the Dark Lord wasn't dead, far from it, and Malfoy Manor flickered with flashes of sinister green, welcoming all Death Eaters to the grandest revel ever to be held – the Dark Lord's victory revel. He swallowed, knowing what atrocities he'd see, those horrors he would have to commit, tonight and forever, for the rest of his life. Being the Dark Lord's right hand man – he couldn't escape that now, there was no resistance, no place to turn except death, everything had been crushed underneath Voldemort's iron fist._

_The pain, the sorrow, the desperation almost overwhelmed him, but slowly, he entered the manor's great ballroom. It reeked of death, blood and defecation from the tortured bodies, sobs and shrieks filled the hall, and in the middle of the grand ballroom, he saw the Dark Lord finishing with a mighty thrust inside a limp, bleeding body, flinging it aside with a casual Avada. He couldn't see who it was, but the long, red hair told him it was probably a Weasley – most certainly young Ginevra, though the Dark Lord didn't always bother with the sex of his victims when he indulged in rape._

_The cage in the corner still held people, and Severus schooled his features into his usual sneer, keeping an iron-grip on his Occlumency. Tonight was all about the defilement and destruction of the remaining Order of the Phoenix. There was absolutely nothing he could do. Nothing at all._

_Severus walked up to the pale monster who didn't even bother to gather his robes to conceal his thin, emaciated frame and his flaccid, large cock, smears of dark blood stains all over his lower body. Kneeling, he said: "I congratulate you and salute you, my Lord."_

_"Rise, Severus," the Dark Lord hissed, "you'll be rewarded, you above all others. Your services have been vital in securing my victory. Defeating Dumbledore, holding Hogwarts, drawing out the Order, your services as my spy…" Pointing with a bony finger to the cage, the bars melted aside and a body was Levitated towards them, left hanging upside down in the air beside them, the face obscured by a shock of brown hair. Still, Severus felt a gnawing suspicion inside him. Could it be…?_

_Then the Dark Lord continued, an amused smile on his too thin lips: "I've killed Potter and Weasley, but I will allow you to destroy the last remaining of the so-called Golden Trio. Severus, I give you Potter's Mudblood. Defile her, rape her as you do so well, give us a show to celebrate my victory. And then, I'll allow you to kill her or keep her as you see fit."_

_Voldemort flipped her over by a flick of his pale wand, and Hermione's beautiful, stricken brown eyes stared at him in horror. Severus felt his throat constrict to not let out a scream…_

… and he woke panicking, sweating, panting, heart thudding, mouth open to let out that howl of pain. Sitting in his great bed in the cold dungeons, he knew there would be no more sleep this night.

Xxxx

In the early hours of the morning, there was a knock on his door. Still unsettled by his nightmare, he wrenched it open, glaring bleary-eyed at **_her_.** _Gods, Merlin, it was good to see her alive and well, after that horrid dream._ He felt almost faint with relief, and had to fight for control to keep himself from _smiling._ Still, he knew this was a business visit. _She had seen enough last night to send him to Azkaban. The Hallucin Cruxit wasn’t an Unforgivable, but Severus rather thought it should have been. And… was the situation with Heron a setup? Had she realized that she might trigger his ... jealousy ... by kissing another man, making him act rashly?_

"Morning," he said gruffly, holding the door open for her. As he took in her pale face – _she also looked like she had slept too little_ – he wondered, not for the first time, if he actually, really _cared_ for the girl, this being much more than lusty lecherous thoughts from a man almost twenty years her senior. _Merlin, wouldn't that be a disaster? He was just over his obsession with Lily, and now, he had found himself someone equally unattainable._

She stepped gingerly inside, and then his heart clenched again: _She had escorted Heron to his quarters. Had she walked away, or had she entered willingly, giving her body to that sorry excuse for a Defense teacher? Even worse, had that piece of filth somehow forced her?_ He didn't think Heron would be up to anything after the thrashing Severus gave his mind last night, but in his experience: you never knew.

Scowling at her, trying to detect if there was anything out of the ordinary, any faint whiff of sex from her smell. _Maybe there was a slight scent of arousal, but he couldn't detect any male scent on her, no matter how accurate his nose was._ He said curtly: "I expect you're here about last night. Coffee?"

"Yes, please," she almost whispered, eyes large and dark as she looked at him. He busied himself by grinding the beans and brewing the coffee, and she sat still on his sofa, hands folded in her lap. This morning, she wore a tight, dark grey skirt and a thin, green, woolen sweater, clinging to her curves in ways that distracted him. _But this was it. She was here to tell him he'd be asked to leave Hogwarts, put under surveillance, go into Azkaban or…_ He sighed, and told himself to calm down. _There was no way they'd send a slip of a witch on her own to send him to Azkaban, no matter how powerful and clever she was. They had to know he wouldn't go willingly._

She sipped her coffee, looking nervous. Then she cleared her throat, still not meeting his eyes, and said: "Thanks for stepping in last night. I could have handled him, but… What you did was very effective. However…" she paused, stilling for a moment.

And he thought: _Here it comes. The suspicions, the distrust, the need to rein me in as a dangerous, dark wizard…_

Then she looked him straight in the eyes and said: "I Obliviated him, afterwards. There's something off about him, and I wouldn't want him to be able to pin a curse like that on you."

He stared at her, mouth agape. _She did what?_

The drips of the coffee was suddenly loud, like the sound reveberated against the vaulted stone roof, but his hands were still steady, automatically pouring coffee for himself. _He could have done that in his sleep, and as it seemed, when he was shocked to his core too._

Looking even more uncomfortable, she said defensively: "I hope you're not angry with me, but I think he's the kind of person to hold a grudge, and I believe proof of you using a curse like that may be troublesome for you, considering your reputation and what people are willing to believe …" she trailed off, uncertainly.

He took a moment to compose himself, sipping his coffee. Then he said slowly: "To make this clear, you _Obliviated_ Heron, to protect my reputation?"

"Yes," she whispered.

He had no idea what to say or do, and he hid himself by the curtain of his hair, taking the another sip. _Could he possibly be wrong about her spying? Or was the chit even more devious than he thought, playing a deep game with him to ensure his trust?_

After a while, without concluding his inner debate, he said gruffly: "Thanks, Granger. That was thoughtful of you. I trust my interference didn't ruin your night, then?"

"Oh, no, not in the slightest," she blushed. "As you perhaps saw, I wasn't a willing participant in that kiss."

He felt enormously relieved, though he - in hindsight - had suspected as much. And finally, he couldn't keep the silly grin off his face, and as his mouth tugged upwards – the equivalent to _beaming_ for him – he said: "Good to know, Granger." At first, she looked surprised to no end, and then she gave him a shy, hesitant smile back, something coming to light in her eyes that he so badly wanted to believe in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's ... happening? *grins* 
> 
> Though remember, it's a slowburn. *grin slowly turns maniacally*


	11. Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Granger's mouth was a small, round, delectable O, as she stared up at the mistletoe, and then a blush crept up on her cheeks as her eyes moved to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning 1: Monsterlength chapter.  
> Warning 2: We're stepping into dark, angsty territories for a while. Remember, Severus has a VERY dubious past. Mind the tags! Really, I mean it. 
> 
> On a side note: I'm currently putting the final touches on the last chapters. By now, I think it's safe for me to post twice a week without missing anything major (like plotholes). I'll also up the chapter count by one, because I've split up one of the later chapters.

**_The Daily Prophet, 19 December:_ **

_Wizengamot member Arthur Weasley calls for a new election. – We’ve known for years that Weasley is a staunch supporter of Shacklebolt, says the Prophet's political commentator Ptolemy Bagshot. – I expect this is the starting point for launching a campaign for Shacklebolt to replace Croaker as Minister. Merlin knows Shacklebolt was peeved when he lost the election, and the relationship between the Auror Office and the Minister has deteriorated further since the Death Eaters once again became a threat. Croaker has lost much of his public support during the autumn, but he still has a strong base in the Wizengamot. This could go both ways, I'm sure, Bagshot says._

* * *

The possibility of him having a wife and a child had still been on her mind – _no matter what Hagrid had said_ – and she had felt more than a little bad about her eagerness as she stood outside his office the next morning. _Morgana, she was stupid. He had no interest in her, she had to get a grip on herself. Fawning after him like those besotted schoolgirls, and she a grown witch at that!_

When his whole face had lit up in a smile, and he had said: "Good to know, Granger," she felt like Christmas had come early. At that moment, she just _knew_ that he cared for her too. _Maybe she had been entirely wrong. Maybe the present had been for the child of a friend, or…_ For a while, they sat still, drinking their coffee. She felt butterflies swooping happily around in her stomach, and she could barely keep from grinning.

Unexpectedly, he said: "So you and Heron… why were you out with him in the first place?" His black eyes had in an instant turned surprisingly hard, questioning her. 

She gulped down a big mouthful, almost coughing in her confusion. _Did he really think she’d..? Surely not._ _  
_ "Umm, well…. Do you remember, I told you … I'm not all that lucky in that department, I mean, it never works out… and he, at least, was interested, and I thought, I could at least have a drink with him, nothing more, and…" Blushing, she broke off, muttering: "This is a mess, forget what I said." 

Severus Snape however, leaned back into his chair, one eyebrow arched, but it was obvious, he wouldn’t budge. “Go on,” he said, voice deceptively quiet. 

_He couldn’t be jealous, could he?_ The thought made her blush, stupidly so, like she was guilty of something. Irritated at herself, she ended up snapping: "Either they're idiots like Heron, or they are stupid fanboys who thinks that I'm Morgana returned to life. I just wanted to have a drink!"

He snorted, apparently appeased, saying: "The problem isn't that no one is interested in you, it's merely that no one is good enough for you. You, Granger, are a _picky_ witch."

Backtracking, she hastily said: "It's not like that! When normal wizards meet me, they all back off!"

He gave her a long, considering glance, before he said carefully: "I can see why most wizards would find you overwhelming. You are smart, powerful, and very pretty. Those who are full of themselves will jump you, while anyone with even the slightest streak of insecurity would see you as far above what they could hope for."

She just knew she had instantly - _again_ \- blushed from head to toe. _Gods, did Snape just call her pretty? And smart and powerful? What had happened to the man? Had he hit his head during the night?_

Softly, he said with that deep, smooth voice, trailing over her like a caress: "You need an intelligent wizard, who's powerful in his own right, someone who isn’t afraid of you."

She licked her lips slowly, hardly daring to breathe. Instead, she said lightly: "I never thought to get relationship advice from you, sir, but you are right, of course." Looking at him, she couldn't help adding wistfully: "Shame that there are so few such wizards available. Almost … all the good ones would seem to be taken." Her eyes almost pleaded with him, caressing his face, and she thought: _Please, tell me I was mistaken, tell me that you're free, tell me you think of me too._

He seemed confused by the mismatch between her words and her body language, giving her a searching look. Then he said, a little bitterly: "I suppose so. Young wizards matching your needs are often snatched up early."

She drank her coffee in silence, as she pondered: _He had obviously misunderstood her. If her gut feeling was to be trusted, he was disappointed, believing her to be only interested in wizards her own age, believing her to NOT be interested in him because of the age difference. Based on his reaction, there was no sign at all that_ **_he_ ** _had any prior attachments._ Her hope was budding, and she just had to set it right. She had to tell him she was interested.

Shaking her head, she gathered her courage and jumped right in: "There are rumours about you, you know."

He arched an eyebrow, lazily, but she was sure he wasn't as confident as he pretended to be, so she barged on: "There are people in the Ministry who believe you're the new leader of the Death Eaters."

At that, he leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and steepled his hands. His face was partially obscured by his long hair, making it difficult to read his expression. Swallowing a little, he asked: "And you, what do you believe?"

She flashed him her best smile, soldiering on: "Oh, I rather think you'd be perfect for that role."

He stiffened, straightening himself, looking offended, and she hurried to complete her argument: "You are powerful, brave, intelligent and cunning enough. But I don't think you're the new leader of the dark. If you actually were, I'd say they would perform much better."

For maybe the first time in history, a fierce blush rose on Severus Snape’s sallow cheeks. 

Xxxx

He swept along the halls, face set in his usual scowl to deter anyone from stopping him. Students jumped out of his way, and that fraud Cato Byror stepped hastily aside, pretending to have an errand into the empty fourth floor classroom, disused since the days of Galatea Merrythought and her insane experiments on how to hex a ghost. Suffice to say, the classroom was haunted enough to merit its disuse, and he smirked to himself at the thought of just how shaken Byror would look at dinner. But his thoughts were on far more disturbing – and pleasant – matters.

 _The little chit had given him the most Slytherin compliment imaginable_. He was as certain as he could be, barring Legilimency, that her feelings were genuine and not something feigned, and she had quoted, almost verbatim, those traits he had suggested she should look for in a man – pertaining to him. _But it was hard to believe. An older man like him, scarred, bad-tempered, with more than a touch of darkness, why would she care for him? Had life finally awarded him a stroke of luck? If she did really care for him, who was he to deny her? There was the considerable problem of his duty, not to mention his ambitions though, but still… He would find a way to make it work. If he succeeded, then he’d be able to_ **_make_ ** _it so._

"Tighnabruaich", he said impatiently to the stone gargoyle guarding the Heads' office. _Really, Minerva had to be scouring the map for small, obscure, Scottish villages for her passwords_. Grumbling to himself, as he stepped on the moving staircase, he realized that he'd have to change the password tomorrow, as the castle demanded a change every fortnight. The new one would, as usual, be something he'd have to rehearse with Minerva for ten minutes to get the pronunciation right. The castle was still stubborn, not wanting to acknowledge the Headmistress, forcing him to set all wards and passwords. He remembered with dread the night when Minerva had been locked out from her quarters, when she had to fetch him late to set it right.

Then he was outside her office – _HIS office_ – and he knocked, scowling a little at the wrongness of it. _He shouldn't have stepped down so easily. But how was he to know that he actually didn't_ **_like_ ** _peace and quiet? He'd never experienced such a thing before the war had ended. And he had been dead wrong, as peace had turned out to be more boring than marking a first year's essays. At least he’d be back at the helm next year, no matter how he enjoyed taunting Minerva by suggesting he’d refuse. That is, if he was still alive next autumn._

"Enter," the Headmistress' voice called out.

He refrained from barging in as he usually did, and entered, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Glaring, he tried not to think about the offending expanses of tartan cloth covering all surfaces. _Really, had the woman gotten a new, tartan covered rug too? No wonder the castle didn't want to cooperate._

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Severus?" Minerva said with a smile.

He sat down in front of her desk – _his desk_ – and his hands came up, rubbing at his brow. "A personal matter," he said heavily. _Gods, this was probably a very silly idea. She loved her lion cub, there was no way Minerva would want an old snake like him close to her precious Princess. Still, Minerva was the closest thing to a confidant that he had. And, she was his boss. She had to know about staff fraternization – he sure would have wanted to know if his teachers went off cavorting with each other._

Steeling himself for mockery and derision, he said: "I’m facing a challenge, Minerva. It's about five feet and three inches high, and has lots of brown, bushy hair."

Minerva lifted an eyebrow in surprise, but she saw right through it. "Well, what is your problem with Hermione?"

"I might care for her," he said, feeling very uncomfortable. He forced himself to sit still on his chair. _He would NOT fidget under her stare._

The silence stretched. "I see," Minerva said finally, pursing her lips. "And how does Hermione feel?"

"I don't think she's as opposed to this as she should be," he said, glancing carefully at something behind Minerva's right ear. _Merlin, Dumbledore was twinkling at him from his portrait, giving him a silent, enthusiastic thumbs up_. Wrenching his eyes away from the offending portrait, he let his gaze settle on Minerva. She looked tired, but her eyes were bright and inquisitive.

"Why should she be opposed?" The Headmistress said, giving him a curious look.

"She should have done better," he said curtly, not wanting to expound on all his shortcomings. In his mind, he easily tallied them all: _His past atrocities, his darkness, moodiness, ugliness, age, lack of previous relationships, his abundance of experience on the more … violent … side, well, in short, everything that made up Severus Snape, dark wizard extraordinaire._

"Hmmm, I agree," Minerva said, a wicked glint in her eyes. "You are too old, too grumpy and as I know you, Severus, much too possessive for a bright, young thing like her. Otherwise, I have no objection at all, neither as your employer or as your friend."

He felt relieved at that, though it was as he expected, and kept his face impassively blank, still meeting Minerva's eyes.

"Do you need my blessing, Severus?" she said with an amused smile.

He gave her his trademark sneer, and said: "Of course not, Minerva. I merely wanted to sound out if there would be any difficulties."

"None," she said, shrugging. "And even less next year, when you're back in this office. Then you'll decide everything for yourself."

He rolled his eyes, like he was exasperated, before giving her a mocking smirk. _His Slytherin side relished the thought of once again holding the full power of Hogwarts, this time to do what he thought was the right way to run a school, but on the other hand, it would clearly pose practical problems. What with his task, his all-important new responsibility? This would become a problem when he became Headmaster again. He couldn't go traipsing off every weekend when he was in charge._

Xxxx

Hermione was happy when Septima approved of her research question for her thesis.

"This will be a very intriguing research process," Septima said. "Make sure to draft that letter to the parents of the seventh year students, and Minerva and I will sign it before Christmas. That’ll give you a headstart in early January."

Her plan was to monitor and determine how feelings would affect the choice of factors in equations, and the seventh year students would be her test subjects. The student would pick factors for an equation that normally would induce strong feelings, namely their chances at a lasting commitment from their love interest. Hermione felt a little queasy with the subject, but after a thorough discussion with Septima, they had landed on love. It had to be a strong feeling, and they both thought that encouraging the students to think about hate, anger or fear were unethical, and sorrow wasn't that easy to call forth. Besides, all students were in love at some point or another. It was the logical solution to an emotional query.

"Your research is not only going into the Arithmancer Chronicler and other, international research magazines,” Septima said enthusiastically, "but also the Prophet and Witch Weekly. I'm sure this will popularize Arithmancy to the young, making more students consider the subject!"

Hermione smiled weakly. _Oh yes, she was sure about that, and she was not looking forward to more press coverage. Besides, she was a coward. She would ask the students to do equations on a subject she'd never dare to do herself… Who knew what kind of results she'd be getting? Would she actually have a chance with Severus Snape?_ Her hands almost trembled at the thought, because now, it seemed like it actually might happen. _Soon._

Xxxx

In the staff room, people were exchanging Christmas gifts, and the atmosphere was cheerful and relaxed. It was the annual Christmas staff party, and several of the professors were leaving for the holidays. The room was filled with wreaths of holly and evergreens, the scent fresh and sharp, and House-elves kept watch as glazed, red apples baked on spits and chestnuts roasted in the great fireplace. Drinks were served, smoking Dragon Eggnog to the daring, and mulled, red Elfwine for the rest.

Even Minerva was leaving to visit her family – _unheard, people whispered, the Head never leaves_ – and as usual, it quickly got quite rowdy when the staff gathered without any worries as to student disturbances. This year, only a handful of students were staying, as it had been after the war. It seemed like families wanted to be close during school holidays, more so than before.

"In my absence, Severus will be acting Headmaster," Minerva announced. The silence was immediate, and Hermione saw Snape glower at the rest of the staff, hair hanging down to partially hide his face, and people avoided both his and Minerva's eyes, looking anywhere in the room except those two. They probably had some very bad memories from his Death Eater tenure, she thought, feeling a pang of sympathy for them all, but most of all for him. She could barely drag her eyes away from him as it was. Her hopeful heart fluttered, and she crossed her fingers silently, making a wish, sincerely hoping he'd stay in the castle most of the Christmas holidays.

As it were, not many of the staff were staying, only Snape, herself, Hagrid and not surprisingly Francis Heron. She would have preferred for him to go on Christmas leave too, but then again, she'd manage, she supposed.

Suppressing a wicked smile, she looked for Cato Byron starting to exhibit signs from her modified Impolitio curse. She had Cursed him as they left the Great Hall, silently, with not a single one of their colleagues noticing, and to be frank, she felt quite proud of that accomplishment. _Yes, her curse seemed to be working!_

People were looking startled, withdrawing and removing themselves from his vicinity, and she heard a few, offended outbursts of "Now, really, Cato! That was uncalled for!"

 _She should probably not exact a revenge like this, but … no_ . He had tried to grievously humiliate both herself and Snape by poisoning them with Amortentia. _There was no chance she'd forgive him._ She had always been one for revenge, finding satisfaction in setting things right when she and her friends had been offended. _What with Draco sodding Malfoy, sneaky Marietta Edgecombe and the pink devil-woman herself, Umbridge, and there were others, too…_

Feeling her face form into a grim, determined smile, she felt Snape's eyes on her. _Oh, he was talking to Byror, and from his astonished expression turning deep scowl, the curse worked just fine._ She gave him a small smirk, and he nodded almost imperceptibly at her – but not before she could see an amused smile briefly crossing his lips. As for Snape, she was sure he could give as good as he got when it came to verbal abuse. However, she felt slightly bad for the rest of the staff, though.

Xxxx

 _That little minx_! Cato Byror was well and truly fucked, and Severus found it all too amusing. Byror's prospects for a peaceful Christmas were now non-existent, thanks to Granger's novel curse, and he supposed Byror would be spending quite a lot of time at St. Mungo's when his relatives had enough of the man's exceedingly foul mouth. The Healers would be baffled, he was sure. Almost chuckling through his less-than-pleasant exchange with Byror, he caught Granger's eyes and nodded to her. _And think of it, the chit had created and executed such a dark spell to get revenge!_ A thrill went through him, making his cock twitch, and he wondered if she’d be amenable to more … ah, _darkness_. 

After Byror moved on, no doubt to insult another, unsuspecting victim, Granger made her way through the throng to him. A little timidly, she pulled out a book-shaped gift from her beaded bag. He frowned a little. _Surely the book was too large to fit in that bag?_ Then it dawned on him, Granger was of course a veritable master of the Undetectable Extension Charm. 

Everyone had read about her famously having a tent, books, potions, food and even the painting of Phineas Black in her bag while the Golden Trio were on their little camping trip during the war. He was sure most of the wizarding world would be hard put to copy that feat, and pride swelled in his chest. _She was impressive, wasn't she?_

"Merry Christmas," she said, looking nervously at him.

"Merry Christmas," he returned, making certain he showed no signs of reciprocity as he tucked the book under his arms. He didn't want to let anyone else of their colleagues in on this, yet. Her face fell a little, and so he felt compelled to add: "You'll get your gift on Christmas morning."

That beaming smile went straight to his heart, and then it all went to shit as usual, when Rolanda suddenly pointed and laughed at them.

 _Gods no, that bloody enchanted Mistletoe!_ If they had been alone, he'd order the castle to remove it – or, if they actually had been alone, he'd rather… _Never mind_ , he chastised his dirty mind. In a room full of people, he could neither show off his mastery over the castle or snog Granger like she deserved.

Granger's mouth was a small, round, delectable O, as she stared up at the mistletoe, and then a blush crept up on her cheeks as her eyes moved to him.

"Gather round!" Rolanda hollered, "witness the first kiss of the season!" In a lower voice, she added with glee to Minerva: "I told you so. Here with the money, already!"

Minerva pursed her lips, and pulled out a small pouch, counting out galleons. The Headmistress gave him a brief grin, and nodded to him to encourage him. _There was no honorable way out. He had to kiss Granger. Softly._

Leaning down, he let his lips touch Granger's soft mouth gently, moving his mouth against hers. To his surprise, she closed the distance, clinging to him, letting her tongue run along the seam of his lips. His breath hitched, Rolanda hooted and their colleagues clapped, and he wrenched himself free, seeing that the mistletoe had indeed fled – and Granger was looking dazed, a lovely flush spreading on her cheeks.

Xxxx

On Christmas morning, a small pile of presents was at the foot of her bed. Harry had given her a subscription of Transfiguration Today and a small box of chocolate eclairs. She smiled, looking forward to keeping up with research in other subjects too, silently thanking Harry for giving her such a thoughtful gift. _Or maybe it was Ginny’s doing. To be frank, Harry had never been all that good at finding suitable gifts._

Neville and Luna had gotten her woolen mittens, charmed to stay dry no matter the weather. Her colleagues had given her mostly chocolate, and Minerva had given her a bottle of that dreadful Firewhisky her brother brewed. Septima's gift was more surprising, a black, Acromantula silk negligee, and Hermione had to smile at the card that followed:

_You're too diligent and hard-working. Here's something for relaxation and pampering. Merry Christmas! Love, Septima._

And then there was one, large present left. _Snape's._ There was no card, and inside the green and silver wrappings – she rolled her eyes at that – there was an old tome: ‘ _Construct Thy Spell to Beshrew Thine Enemies’_ , by Godelot. Her eyes wide, she squealed with joy. _This was a priceless gift!_

The book was very rare, written in the late fourteenth century, and still it was considered a necessity to anyone wanting to create spells. She supposed her modified Impolitio was the reason for his choice. Then she blanched. _This must have cost a fortune, indeed._ _Her gift to him would pale in comparison!_ She had to thank him right away. On top of her thin pajamas shorts and sleeveless top, she pulled on her new negligee to keep herself from the cold in the corridors.

Xxxx

Severus slouched in his favorite, leather chair by the fire, long legs stretched out, enjoying the relaxed afterglow that only a good wank could give him. Still in his soft, black pajamas pants and his equally black dressing gown, he nursed a mug of coffee while perusing Granger's gift for him. He was pleasantly surprised by it: It was a thoughtful, exciting choice, a new treatise by the French shooting star scholar Pierre Chambon on the uses of Thestral blood and hairs in defensive potion making. The binding was made of elegant, black dragonhide with golden letters, protecting the text from potion spills and spell damage.

An insistent knocking on his door made him groan. _Gods, who needed to speak with him seven thirty on Christmas morning?_ This better be important. He was inclined to not open the door, but then he remembered: _He was the acting Headmaster. He simply couldn't refuse to answer._

Growling to himself, he rose up from his chair, and tore the door open. Whatever he had planned for ripping apart whoever was out there died in his throat, when a very scantily dressed Granger threw herself around his neck, whispering: "Thank you, thank you!"

Swallowing heavily, he was suddenly very glad he had just tossed himself off, or else he would have had a raging erection right away. _Merlin, what was she wearing? Practically nothing!_ Something long and flimsy, on top of something even flimsier and … very, very short, with a deep décolletage. 

He drank in the feel of her breasts, creamy skin hidden only by a thin silk top, pressed into his naked chest, and he allowed himself to put his arms around her, letting one hand rest on the small of her back and the other cradling the swell of her hip. He could feel the thin Acromantula silk of her negligee – a tasteful black, he rather thought – and his hand rested on the lining of her skimpy sleeping shorts, the pale peach colour almost blending in with her skin.

His treacherous, greedy cock twitched, and he stepped quickly out of her embrace, only to regret it as he saw her big, confused brown eyes. Then she whispered: "How could I ever thank you, sir? This was a priceless gift!"

His mind immediately provided him with a lot of suggestions on how to "thank" him, and he tried to force the images down, though his cock was cheering the dirty images on.

Gruffly, he said: "Thanks to you, too. I will enjoy reading the treatise. Would you like some coffee?"

He regretted it right away, when she beamed and sauntered past him to curl up on his sofa, her tiny shorts riding up to her arse. She looked so good, and all he wanted to do was to crush her down with his weight, entering her tight quim to fuck her into oblivion… _Gods, get a grip, man! You're not fourteen anymore, you'll be forty in a matter of days._

Instead, he poured coffee into her mug, and sat down into his own chair. And there it was again – that expression of bliss and delight on her face. Combined with her state of undress, it became too much, and he had to put a quick wordless and wandless glamour on his front. _Not for the first time, he thought that wizards with tiny dicks had an easier way of hiding their desires._

"It's lovely, sir," she said, and he interrupted her with a grimace.

"Maybe it's time for us to move beyond the honorific? I suggest you call me by my given name from now on."

Her eyes widened, and a grin broke out on her face, making him feel like first rays of the sun were shining on him.

"Yes, Severus," she said, her eyes filled with happiness, and he felt an odd tugging in his heart, like he had longed for her to say his name.

She kept chattering, telling him how pleased she was by his gift, and his mouth quirked. _Wonder if she'd be that happy with her gift, if she had known that the book had belonged to Voldemort? Severus himself had been gifted the book from the Dark Lord on his nineteenth birthday. It had been very useful. Now, she could benefit from it. After all, it was a very intriguing text. The Dark Lord did have quite good taste in books._

Xxxx

Snow was falling lightly on Hogsmeade, and she grinned at Severus, snow dusting his black hair and the black fabric of his cloak, covering his broad shoulders.

"Thanks for joining me," she said, as they trudged towards the warm light from the village.

In the afternoon on Boxing Day, Hermione had wanted to get out of the castle, and with Hagrid away for dinner at the Burrow, it was only her, Severus and Francis Heron left. As Heron was out of the question, she had asked Severus to accompany her to Hogsmeade for a trip to the bookshop Spines and Ink, checking out the Christmas sale. Though she hadn't bothered to ask him, Heron had quickly offered to stay at school to keep an eye on things, not meeting either hers or Snape's eyes, claiming to be busy with catching up on his marking. She supposed there could be a residual fear after Severus attacked Heron, though it couldn't be on a conscious level after her Obliviate.

The tall man beside her smiled a little, and said casually: "Hogsmeade, without any students to ruin the experience, is quite refreshing. Besides, Spines and Ink does have quite an eclectic collection."

She could feel him looking down at her with a considering glance, and then, surprisingly, she felt his arm around her shoulder, drawing her into his body. Her breath hitched slightly, but she didn't pull away, merely walked alongside him, body comfortable and snug in the crook of his arm. Her mind was another matter, because her inner self was running around in circles, yelling: _Severus is holding me in his arms, he's making an advance on me, oh yes, finally!_

She snuggled into his body, enjoying the unexpected intimacy. Closing her eyes for a moment, she felt so content, so happy, so … fulfilled. _This was perfect, romantic, even._

Entering Hogsmeade itself, the streets were almost devoid of people, but the houses were decorated, looking wonderful and cosy. Hermione supposed most people stayed with families and friends for Boxing Day, and warm lamp lights from homes and those few shops that stayed open created pools of light in the dusk. She, on the other hand, felt just as much at home in his arms as she would in front of her own fireplace. 

With a happy sigh, she was about to ask him if they could have a drink after the bookshop, when there were several loud cracks, starling them both. 

Suddenly, a ring of dark-cloaked figures had Apparated in, surrounding them, and several curses shot towards them. She threw up a shield in the same instant as Severus, and the hexes, jinxes and curses clashed horribly against their shields, making the protective force field flicker and waver. Modifying it quickly, she put Voldemort’s _Vir Mulier Scuto-_ theory to the test, setting the Shield to rotate continuously. 

Snape swore under his breath, turning quickly around full circle to see how many the attackers were, and shot her a quick look. With a snarled command, he went into the fighting stance. "Whatever you see, keep the Shield up!" 

She nodded, wondering how he thought to go on an offensive against what had to be more than ten Death Eaters. "I can attack…" she shot back, wand at the ready, but he interrupted her.

"No, just keep us covered by the Shield, never mind the attack!" 

She felt him lower his Shield, and she pushed more of her strength into Shielding them both. 

A large, hulking figure yelled: "You so love those little Mudblood bitches, you fucking traitor! You just can't keep away from them, can you?"

Her eyes widened, and Snape growled, casting a strong Expulso in the direction of the large Death Eater. Several shields sprang up around him, but Severus' curse broke through. Though weakened, it blasted the Death Eater off his feet.

Then a smaller, female shape shouted spitefully at Hermione: "Has he fucked you yet? No? You've got something to look forward to! That giant cock of his used to make the sluts he raped scream and plead for mercy, but he never listened as he fucked them hard, again, again and again. Did you know, he was the Dark Lord's favorite rapist? You're in for an experience, Mudblood!"

Hermione felt herself blanch, and she saw Severus narrow his eyes to dangerous-looking, dark slits, throwing a deep red Reducto at the woman. The woman's shield shattered, and her cloak and mask exploded into a fine, ash-like fountain. The woman screamed, pulling away to hide her face, her long, strawberry-blonde hair falling down her back.

Continuously, flashes of green, red or purple curses hit their shields almost continually, but they held – barely. Hermione fought to keep up their Shield, and sweat broke out on her body by the effort.

Another Death Eater bellowed: "Where's the child, you fucking bastard! We know you've got her! You can't hide her, we'll find her and give her the proper upbringing a true, Death Eater child deserves!"

The words cut like a knife, and Hermione gasped – _a child – was it true? Did he really have a family? And the mother a Death Eater too?_

Severus furrowed his brow in concentration and rage, whispering an incantation: " _Languidus Tenebre!_ " A blue flash lit up the street with a clap of thunder, leaving a ringing silence in her ears. The Death Eaters were spread on the ground around them, for all purposes looking as if they were knocked out flat.

Roughly, she was pulled off the ground, a great rushing sound filling her ear, and Hogsmeade vanished into tiny pinpricks of lights as they soared away. She yelled in shock, seeing the landscape blur underneath them, the wind whistled and howled in her ears, and the temperature was freezing cold. With a thud, they landed a minute later outside a side entrance to the castle, her teeth jarring in her mouth, making her scream stop short.

She doubled over, hiding her head between her knees to fight the sudden urge to heave, to rid herself of all she had ever eaten in her whole life. Panting, she felt sweat pool at her nape and between her breasts from the very acute shock of being airborne, _without support_.

A tentative touch landed on her back, and Severus said: "Are you alright?"

"No," she growled. "I detest flying!" Curiously amused by herself, on the verge of hysterics, she thought: _Never mind being attacked by Death Eaters, that used to be ordinary, but a bit of flying? Never!_

Straightening her posture slowly, feeling her stomach slowly right itself, she looked at him. At first his expression was worried, then he composed himself, retreating behind his expressionless mask, hiding behind the strands of his black hair.

"What kind of spell was that, are they dead?" she wheezed, still hoarse and out of breath from her yelling.

"Come inside," he said, "it's safer to speak of this inside Hogwarts' walls."

She followed him in silence through the empty corridors, their boots clacking against the stone floors with a reverberating, menacing sound as they hurried along, he in full stride with his long legs, she running behind. Down into the dungeons he led her, and she was slowly regaining her senses after the wild flight. _He had attacked the Death Eaters. It had to be definitive proof for him to be on the side of the light, just like she had thought. And the mention of the child – it just proved that the Death Eaters were after his family, too. Gods, he really_ **_had_ ** _a family. He really WAS out of bounds for her. He had tricked her._ She felt awful, on the verge of crying, and she just couldn't understand why he would come on to her like that.

But the things they had said… _Had he really done those things in his years as a spy – raped women repeatedly? Was she really safe with him if this was true?_ She shuddered, feeling cold and queasy, scared, even.

Entering his quarters, she hesitated at the doorstep before walking in, mustering all her Gryffindor courage. He was no more dangerous now than he had been yesterday. Besides, him being a rapist might not be true, but a nagging voice in her mind told her that somehow, _it was_.

Still striding forward, he drew his wand with a sudden movement – she flinched, hoping he didn't notice – casting: " _Expecto Patronum!_ " A large, silvery doe burst forth, and he gave it a message: " _To Kingsley Shacklebolt: Death Eater attack in Hogsmeade, group of ten is unconscious on the ground. Hurry before they wake, you have fifteen minutes._ " The doe flashed through the wall, gone in an instant, and his frame sagged a little.

"This calls for a large whisky," he said gruffly, standing by his desk, pulling out a bottle from a drawer. He filled a tumbler almost to the brim with smoking, golden liquid, before thrusting the glass at her without asking nor looking at her. Pouring himself an equally stiff drink, he slumped into a chair, dragging his hand through his greasy hair.

Hermione sat gingerly down on the sofa, nipping at her too-large Firewhisky. "What was that spell?" she inquired again.

He laughed short, mirthlessly, and said: "Something those addlebrained nitwits didn't expect. They think all high-level dark magic died with the Dark Lord, but that is not the case. Those morons were merely too far down on the ladder for the Dark Lord to bother teaching them anything."

"And you were not," she stated, almost tonelessly, brow furrowing. She shuddered again.

"Just so," he said, inclining his head a fraction to her, black eyes expressionless as he watched her, unblinking.

Hermione swallowed. Rationally, she knew very well that he had been Voldemort's right hand man, but still it made her nervous to just think about it. Though, no matter how uncomfortable she felt, it couldn't curb her burning curiosity. Hesitantly, she asked: "And you… learned a lot of spells from him?"

The dark man sitting across her nodded tiredly. Slowly, he responded: "The Dark Lord had more to him than Crucio'ing his followers, at least before he was defeated the first time. He shared his immense knowledge of magic with those he deemed worthy. It was a thrill." His eyes became a little unfocused, unseeing, as he continued: "A thrill to learn all those spells and theories, a thrill to be chosen, to be exalted." His eyes became sharp, focused, again, and he added with a humourless grimace: "Before it all went to hell, as you very well know."

She nodded mutely, understanding that for one such as he – or herself – the access to all that knowledge would be invaluable. _Priceless._

Severus sighed, scouring his eyes with his fists, and said heavily: "The curse knocks them out more fully than a stunner. They stay unconscious for a little less than twenty minutes, immovable, and then they wake up. If Kingsley gets there in time, it will be a walk in the park for the Aurors to rein them in."

"Did you know them?" she asked, eyes downcast, fixed on the golden, smoking liquor in her glass. Stupidly enough, she didn't like prying in his past experiences, though she had _so_ many questions.

"With time, we learned to recognize many of the regulars, no matter the cloak or masks. These are, as I said, low-level Death Eaters. They were of no importance before, and they are suely cannon fodder this time too, to be sacrificed like pawns when needed," he said callously. "Whoever their leader is, I'm sure he or she knew they would be hard pressed to match the two of us."

She swallowed again, her stomach twisting uncomfortably. "It was a deliberate attack on us, then?"

He shrugged. "Of course, it could just be a random attack in Hogsmeade, but I rather think them Apparating almost on top of us is a little too convenient."

Blanching, she felt as if she wanted to curl up to protect herself. _Gods. Who knew they were going to Hogsmeade? Heron? Could Heron be a Death Eater? Or a student?_

She blinked rapidly to clear her vision, mind reeling. "Who told them?" Her voice was much too steady, surprising herself.

He shrugged. "A Death Eater, I suppose. A fairly new one, or someone with a Death Eater acquaintance, trading information."

"Someone at Hogwarts," she stated, face seriously.

He shot her a quick glance, mouth quirking, and said: "Yes. It's not that surprising. The Dark Lord had a lot of supporters, and many weren't that vocal about it."

For a while, they sipped at the Firewhisky in silence. Again and again, Hermione's thought turned to what the female Death Eater had shouted. _Was Snape really a rapist? She wanted to believe it was not so, but still…_

The whisky took hold of her as she got deeper into her cups, and finally, she blurted out: "Severus, what did you do, as a Death Eater?"

Annoyingly enough, he rolled his eyes, saying exasperatedly: "What do you think, Hermione?"

Nibbling on her bottom lip, she considered him for a while before answering: "Logically, I think you did everything a Death Eater would do." At that, she saw him wince slightly, and she realized he had more vivid impressions of what that could signify than herself. Continuing, she said slowly: "However, I want to believe you did nothing at all, but that is clearly not the truth."

He looked at her for a long time, before he answered bitterly: "I suppose you're asking because of what that bitch, Avery's daughter, yelled at you."

"Avery's daughter…" she whispered, feeling even more queasy. "Is that Jemina Avery, four years ahead of me?"

"Yes," he almost spat. "That stupid, little bint, only following her family's orders, never an original thought in her feeble mind."

"Well," she said, feeling very unsure, "I suppose that's why I asked." She knew, her eyes were pleading with him, hoping against hope that he had not been, as Jemina Avery had shouted, Voldemort's favourite rapist. _No matter if he was an adulterer, it was a hundred times worse to fall in love with a rapist._

Suddenly, he chugged down the rest of his Firewhisky, saying with determination: "I did everything you can imagine, and then some more." He slammed the tumbler onto the table, and rose from his chair, heavily, to fetch the bottle standing on his desk.

She pressed her eyes shut, asking weakly: "So you tortured, killed, maimed and raped?"

He said stiffly, while pouring himself another, large shot: "Yes." 

It felt like an iron fist clenched her heart, squeezing the life out of her, and she felt frozen, like she wasn’t able to move an inch. 

Severus poured himself another whisky, drinking deeply, before he muttered: “I did those things. I never wanted to rape anyone, believe me. But when it came to do the Dark Lord’s bidding, there was no choice. Not at all.” 

A little warmth seemed to spread inside her, but she wasn’t sure if it was a kindling of rage, the acrid smoke of disappointment or a sliver of hope. _Everything was too jumbled in her mind, chaotic, in a way her mind_ **_never_ ** _was._ Swallowing, she felt as if all her rationality and logic had left her, leaving only a confusing mess of warring emotions behind. 

Of all the things churning inside, she latched on to the one thing she couldn’t comprehend. Shaking her head, she muttered: "Somehow, killings should be worse than rape, but I just can't understand how anyone would be able to do that to a woman."

"I really don't want to talk about this, Hermione." His voice was biting, his face was forbidding, and his scowling signaled a breakout of his famous anger, like this was pushing him to his limits too. 

"That I understand," she said hurriedly. "But you, Severus … I like talking to you and spending time with you, and I see you as an honourable man, who's spent years and years protecting people. I just don't understand … How can you even function physically to do such an act?"

Had anyone asked her half an hour ago, she would vehemently have denied that Severus Snape could squirm. It was plain as day that he _really_ didn't want to talk about this. _Maybe he regretted it. Maybe it was true that he’d never wanted to assault anyone like that. What kind of horrors did Severus Snape have to live with? Being forced must have been an awful thing, both for his victims and himself._

Xxxx

_Gods. Hermione Granger with her incessant questions. Had the witch no limits at all, no sense of what was beyond socially acceptable? Would she ask him next how it felt to force himself to orgasm inside an unwilling, dry cunt?_

He almost laughed with bitter amusement, because he really, really didn't want her to know that there was a part of Severus Snape who managed to get off on suffering and pain. _What would she think of him if she knew? It was obvious, though, that she suspected it – and she hated it. Hated_ **_him,_** _as she should_ _._

Instead, he pulled himself together, saying: "There was a reason for why I became a Death Eater, Hermione. I'm not a good man. Just leave it, but remember, I didn't want to do ... that."

Surprisingly enough, the little witch teared up, and she grasped his hand, crushing it fiercely in her small, dainty fist, sniffling silently.

Glaring at her like she had offended him, he opted for keeping quiet. Nothing good would come out of this conversation. In fact, if it wasn't for the alert to Kingsley, he would seriously have considered Obliviating her. _This was … not … the kind of knowledge he wanted her to have. An honourable man, indeed._

She emptied her glass, reaching out a hand, and he refilled it, once again to the top. He had no idea how an inebriated Hermione would act, but they both deserved a drink tonight. Or three.

Silence stretched, and he tried to keep still under her worried, but somehow caring gaze.

The clock ticked, and he wondered if Kingsley had secured the Death Eaters yet. He hoped so, but realized that with the current no-information policy the Ministry operated under, he would probably have to read about what happened in the Prophet.

Suddenly Hermione said, her voice ringing out loudly in the stillness: "If Voldemort had won, what would you have done?"

He blinked. _If the Dark Lord won… Gods, what a nightmare. Just like the one he had, where he was ordered to abuse her._ Clearing his throat, he said roughly: "Nothing, Hermione."

Her eyes widened, and she looked hurt for a moment. "Would you have continued to fight against him?"

Severus sighed, and said more gently: "If the Dark Lord had won, everyone still alive in the Order would have firmly believed that I was his right hand man. There would be no one to collaborate with, because no one would trust me. I could either kill myself, or keep up my part to survive."

She paled a little, and then she honed in on his nightmare. "If I was captured, would you have tried to save me?" Her big, golden-brown eyes were hopeful, almost pleading with him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and decided to go for the truth. "Do you really want to know? You might have found death easier than survival."

"Yes, I would like to know. Why?" she said, eyes searching his face.

Severus grimaced, and said grimly: "Do you remember what I told you about the Dark Lord? I suspect he would have taken you for himself. If so, I _couldn't_ have saved you from his attention. However, if he didn't, or if he lost interest in you after a while, he might have gifted you to me."

She looked shocked, mouth opening as if she would protest, but he pressed on to make his point: "As a slave, Hermione. A body slave. You might survive, but I would have had to keep up the façade. It would not be pleasant, and it would be …very public. But yes, I would have asked for you to save your life. Do not doubt that."

Her big brown eyes grew, and she blushed fiercely, averting her eyes. Abruptly she rose, fleeing, the door slamming behind her. _Slamming, with an air of finality that Severus knew all too well._

Severus started out of his chair, as if he would run after her, but he forced himself to stop. _Gods, it would be useless. She had run from him. Hermione Granger didn’t want him._ With an inarticulate roar, he threw his tumbler in the fireplace instead. As the glass shattered, the Firewhisky made the flames flare up into a moment of brilliant incandescence. 

Xxxx

She had taken to keep to her room, not running the risk of meeting him again. _Because, what would she say?_ Her thoughts were a jumbled mass of confusion, and her mind and heart ached. _Severus the Death Eater, Severus the Order spy, Severus the vicious killer, Severus the secret protector, Severus the evil git, Severus the hero…_ At the centre of the vortex two opposites warred: _Severus the rapist and Severus the lover – and family man._

She hadn't gotten around to asking him about his child, being too revolted by the idea that he would keep her as a slave, **_even_** though he had a family. _What would his wife have said? Was she some poor thing forced to watch her wizard rape other witches, who’d have to accept him keeping a young witch as a slave? Or was this woman someone who’d enjoy seeing him doling out pain and suffering?_

Still, it didn’t matter. She had known, hadn't she? And yet, she had let herself ignore what she had seen, knowing that there was a child in his life, letting his apparent interest in her overrule her good sense.

 _What were his defining traits in her eyes? What kind of person did she believe him to be?_ Hermione felt a nagging worry that all the epithets were _equally_ true. Could she let herself care for a wizard who had this level of complexity? And moreover, could she really trust a man who had, admittedly, raped women, tortured people and killed, and was obviously willing to cheat on his wife too? 

Sickened, she thought of her earlier fantasies and dreams of him being sexually dominant. How could she let herself dream about that with a man who had violently dominated, defiled and subjugated women for real? She had to rein herself in and step back. Hermione Granger was not about to become the ‘other woman’. _Had he expected her to be a willing mistress, the woman he kept in secret, the one who’d be given crumbs of his attention, a plaything for his amusement?_

Whatever he had thought, the secrets that Severus Snape kept must be considered a blaring alarm, a red flag. _Her emotions for him would have to be purged from her mind and heart._

Xxxx

Hermione had locked herself up for days. Severus understood quite clearly that after this, Hermione would never care for him, and that she probably was disgusted with herself for even thinking about him. It was blatantly obvious that she was frightened, and there wasn't a thing he could do to reassure her. _The truth was the least reassuring part of it all._

Once again, Severus Snape was weighed, measured and found wanting. He was not good enough for a real relationship. And gods, it hurt, this time too. _Why, why, why had he ever been so stupid as letting himself care for another witch?_ Downing his Sober-up Potion quickly, at least the physical discomfort of being roaring drunk disappeared. He couldn't go around the castle as acting Headmaster while being pissed, though Merlin knew he had been drinking too much that year when he actually was Headmaster. But now, the pain inside overrode anything he could think to digest, unless he was to douse himself on the Draught of Living Death. _He wasn't there – yet._

He had tried another Patronus to Shacklebolt, but received no answer, just like he expected. The Prophet had, of course, nothing on the attack at all. They were on to him - or rather _her_ \- and he wanted to stop those threats effectively, and sooner rather than later.

On New Years Eve, he left early to get there before she went to bed. He warded his quarters, and snuck outside, Apparating from just outside the gates. It was freezing cold, and the snow crackled under his feet as he landed at his destination, preparing himself to cast even stronger wards on the perimeter. Very soon, he would have to move them, making their dwelling place into a proper safe house, and that meant he had to bring someone in as a Secret Keeper. _Clearly, that wouldn’t be Hermione. Maybe Minerva, then._ Finishing the warding, he opened the gates, the iron joints creaking ominously in the low temperature. The garden was filled with piles of snow shaped into odd figures and forms, like a ceramist going insane.

And then she was there, running as fast as her stubby, little legs could go, throwing herself at him, play wand in hand, burrowing her little face into his neck as he lifted her up, squealing in delight. He breathed in the smell of her, the clean smell of a small child, and smiled into her hair.

"Miss'd you," she said, her large, dark eyes honing in on him with that frightful intensity he had come to both expect, fear and cherish. Those eyes, like she could see inside his very soul. _Maybe_ **_she_ ** _could, at that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter went from cute to horrible, I know. So, how do you feel about Severus' past? It's pretty grim, but that's what I imagine the Death Eaters would do.


	12. Rumours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I promise, it’ll be fun. Just like old times. Besides, I have a business proposition for you. Would you like to hear it?”
> 
> Lucius leaned forward, grey eyes glinting with that kind of cruel curiosity that always signalled his interest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! You're the best. <3

**_The Daily Prophet, 8 January 2000:_ **

_Severus Snape, War-Hero and First Order of Merlin, turns forty tomorrow. When will he SETTLE down?_

_The strict Hogwarts teacher and famous spy, Severus Snape is about to hit midlife crisis. Everyone is familiar with his tragic life story and his long lost love, but in the year after the war, scores of witches have become quite intimately acquainted with our mystery man. When will he be ready to settle down?_

_We spoke to one of the numerous witches sharing his bed:_

_\- It was the best sex of my life, an anonymous witch tells our reporter, eyes starry and dreamy as she reminiscences about her night with the stern war-hero. – Though, he made it clear in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t interested in anything long-term. When he comes around, there’s going to be one lucky witch out there._

* * *

Hermione had kept herself alone as much as possible. She hadn’t stopped by for morning coffee in Severus’ office since _that_ night, and she had hidden behind the newspaper or books during meals. At staff meetings, she didn’t argue with anyone, and she avoided the staff room altogether. Basically, she kept to herself: reading in public, and crying in private. 

Both Minerva and Septima were watching her, worried frowns on their faces, and Severus himself seemed to be scowling even more than usual, though he kept his distance too. _And that hurt her, even though the distance was what she wanted - no, craved. Still, if he had really wanted her, shouldn’t he have approached her by now? At least to apologize? Maybe all he had been looking for was another quick tumble._ She felt awful, but still, she just couldn’t seem to root him out of heart.

Whenever anyone asked how she was, she made a habit of smiling weakly, saying: “There’s so much to read right now. I just want to get on top of my studies.”

At breakfast, after reading the story of his numerous lady friends, she gave one Severus Snape a glare that made him raise his eyebrows at her. _She should have known. He was a lecher, wasn’t he? Shagging all those witches, and that poor woman, the mother of his child, who had to contend with an unfaithful man, his exploits plastered all over the news! At least, he had the decency to look ashamed when he saw the story in the Prophet._

She almost snarled at the thought that he, bastard that he was, encouraged her when even the Death Eaters knew he had a child! That article in the Prophet about his sex life was just the icing on the cake.

Consequently, when Filius the next day shouted: “Happy birthday, Severus!” at the staff meeting, making all the other Professor chorus birthday greetings too, she merely looked down in her lap, not saying a word. To her horror, there was a strong twinge inside her, and suddenly, the acute feeling of loss of companionship and the budding relationship welled up. Hiding behind her hair, she blinked several times, ridding her eyes from those pesky, unwanted tears. 

She couldn’t even congratulate him on his birthday. _She just couldn’t – she was afraid to fall into his arms again, wanting his touch, never letting go of him._ Resolutely, she decided to stay away from the staff party Minerva threw for his fortieth birthday, dousing herself with Dreamless Sleep again. 

To her great shame, her dreams were still hot and steamy, though if she woke _before_ she orgasmed, she ran a cold shower instead of indulging herself. She felt truly sick and ashamed those times she woke, hot and bothered, gasping his name in the throes of her climax.

Rationally, she realized that Severus may have been forced to spend years doing atrocious things at the bidding of Lord Voldemort. By definition, Dumbledore himself would be guilty of forcing him, by sending his spy out to immerse himself in the Death Eater circles. But she couldn’t help wonder: _Severus had denied wanting the torture, the rapes and the killings, but was that really true?_ The constantly churning thoughts made her almost ill, and doubt gnawed on her raw nerves. _Could the man she knew have wanted to do such things, or was he a victim in an awful situation? Still, one couldn’t get a worse idea for a love interest than a promiscuous, former rapist with a family._

Weeks went by in this fashion, and there was no news about the Ministry catching _any_ Death Eaters, and she couldn’t help wondering if Kingsley had failed to capture their attackers on Boxing Day. Such a capture would have been great news, strengthening the public’s belief in the Ministry’s ability to combat the resurgence, giving hope to fight the despair and uneasiness people felt.

Training under Filius Flitwick with his sixth year Charms class was nice, though, and the students were interested, eager to learn and mostly polite. So far, it was her easiest teaching experience. Septime had told her that while she agreed with Snape that Hermione seemed to handle teaching, she still needed to do a year of teaching during her Apprenticeship. So here she was, teaching Charms to Flitwicks’ class. 

The small Professor, however, also seemed to worry about her, and he asked her, time and time again in his squeaky voice: “Are you quite sure you are happy, Hermione? I think you look a little off, a little less spirited, not _quite_ yourself.” 

Every time, she answered politely: “You know me. I go all-in on my interests, and I have to admit, these days, I sleep too little and read too much.”

Flitwick frowned at her, and tried to cheer her up as best he could. First by bringing chocolates and sweets to every single class, claiming they both needed a boost of energy to tackle the classes, and then by revising Cheering Charms for a week, making her cheeks hurt by the forced grinning she had to endure. The highlight, or more correctly the low point, came when his class had rehearsed a _song_ to cheer her up, where each student had to keep track of a Charm dividing their voice into four harmonies. 

Her smile felt like it was plastered on her face, and she ached to scowl at someone, as the sixth years were singing all twelve verses of an old folk song, while smiling beatifically at her. _She wanted to hex them all into oblivion, and throw Filius Flitwick headlong into the frozen lake for good measure._

The many voices blending in a curious harmony, soaring to the rafters of the Great Hall in an angelic chant, should have lifted her spirits, because Flitwick’s class was _good_ . Still, as the students sang ' _Cross out of thy books malevolent looks,’_ she couldn’t help snorting to herself. She felt her scowl these days to be one to rival … _Snape’s_ , and there she was again. _Was he a vicious evil man, or was he better than his past actions? Why would he want to cheat on his wife?_

Then, by the end of January, the _Prophet_ sported an article with a photographed sighting of a Death Eater, recognized to be Avery’s daughter. At that, she shared a worried glance with Snape - _their first interaction in weeks_ \- and it was obvious, he was astonished. _Why would Jemina Avery still be around? Hadn’t Kingsley reacted to Snape’s Patronus? Why was that girl still on the loose?_

Xxxx

Her research came along splendidly, as it seemed the seventh year Arithmancy class were eager to help, working diligently on their task. Of course, the selection was rather small, with only nine students in the class, but Septima had agreed to let her research be the main project for the class in January.

“You’re doing fine, Hermione,” her Mistress said soothingly, with that irritating, comforting voice she had adopted after Christmas. _Hermione hated it. She was NOT a frail flower, requiring soft voices and no criticism._

She refrained from scowling at her Mistress, though, and made herself smile in return, though the effect was likely poor and not very reassuring. _Basically, she showed Septima all her teeth, not really giving off a friendly smile._

The students were required to set up an equation on the chances of a long-lasting commitment from their love interest, and it resulted in both giggling, nervous anticipation and red-faced students. Some valued the strength of family ties, plans for the future and social status, while others relied solely on attraction, common interests or mutual friends.

“It’s important that he’s a hereditary member of the Wizengamot too,” said a snooty young Ravenclaw girl, nodding sagely at Hermione. At that, she couldn’t help blinking, but asked politely about her reasoning. 

“Because then he’ll know my family’s way of living,” the girl explained, looking at Hermione as if she was inherently daft.

“And _that_ is your determining factor, knowing what kind of lifestyle you’ll expect?” Hermione asked, her voice almost an incredulous croak. _Was the girl practically brainwashed, drenched in silly Pureblood prejudices?_

“Yes,” the girl said brightly, and coloured slightly as she whispered: ”I’m talking about my cousin. He’s seven years older than me, and well on his way with his political career.”

Barely stifling a laugh, Hermione nodded. _After all, it was less callous for the girl to match her factors to a man she cared for, rather than matching the man to the factors._

Not a single one of her students suggested the factor she herself felt to be important – the unpredictability of the heart. _Because why else would she fall head over heels for a former Professor, nineteen years older than herself, not being able to quell her emotions, even though she had an_ **_abundance_ ** _of reasons?_

Xxxx

Again, Severus was going through the motions of teaching, his mood as dark as it had been during the war. He missed Hermione, and it hurt to know that he had been rejected yet again. _Every time she was near, there was a palpable pain in his chest, making it hard to breathe._

The fact that Hermione seemed to be just as despondent was a small consolation, her mood bleaker than he had ever seen. It was almost bittersweet, making him feel slightly better that she’d be so sad because of _him_. 

He had contemplated trying to woo her back, but decided against it. _After all, that hadn’t worked the last time he was pining after a Gryffindor witch. He’d only make a fool of himself again. If he couldn’t have love, at least he could keep his pride._

Had he ever thought she was spying on him? Maybe the Christmas incident, seeing him being attacked and retaliating against the Death Eaters had been enough to clear his name? By all accounts it should, but in his opinion, the Ministry had never acted sane and rational. _Or maybe this, her obvious hurt, proved that she had actually, impossibly, liked_ **_him_** _._

No matter that, not having a relationship made everything else so much easier for him. He could execute his plans more easily, and he could even issue a challenge, if he wanted to, wreaking more havoc than he had ever done before. _Taking control - using his full potential at last. Why should he care for anything or anyone but his own interests, indeed?_

The short letter he had received yesterday - the third during their correspondence - proved that he was well underway to achieve his goals: 

_Dear friend._

_From your last letter, I trust we have a mutual understanding. We both hold the key to information the other wants - and information we’d both rather bury. Enclosed, you’ll find a token of my goodwill. Do whatever pleases you with the information._

A small, cruel smile curled around his lips, because all deals could be broken. The Dark Lord had taken his youth and almost his life, so why shouldn’t he try to get something back, turn the situation to his own gain? Any Slytherin would appreciate the fact that he had always been on his own side, never truly belonging to any master. _Because why would he? No one was on_ **_his_ ** _side, Severus had had to take care of himself all his life. Not like that pretty little Gryffindor, always so brave and loyal, and… Merlin, there he was again, thinking about the chit._

Severus dreaded the day when Hermione would move on, and he didn’t know how he would react if he found her in Hogsmeade again, all dressed up to find herself a wizard. After all, he had lost it well and truly when he found Heron with his tongue down her throat before Christmas. In this sole respect, he found that the Death Eater attacks were a good thing, as she was not likely to venture out from the castle alone. 

He, on the other hand, had no such qualms, and he paid a visit to Lucius on Friday night.

“Hello, Severus,” the blonde man said, a little nervously, as he brushed off the Floo powder on Lucius’ forest-green carpet. He gave the Malfoy patriarch a friendly pat on the shoulder, before sitting down in the wing chair opposite to Lucius.

The man gestured to the table between them, and Severus filled a tumbler of Mortlach whisky. With a nod to Lucius, he savoured the taste of the golden year of 1938, wondering how those Muggles had brewed something far more superior than the vile brew Minerva’s brother had created. “Any news on Rabastan?” he asked.

“Are you still doing _that_?” Lucius said, one elegant eyebrow raised in question. “You certainly got their attention. Young Nott told Draco that his father says Rabastan has gone into hiding, and no wonder, as they didn’t even _find_ Mulciber junior. How come he didn’t become another Skeeter home delivery?” With malicious glee, Lucius added: “You didn’t mess up, Severus? Not you, surely?”

“I’m afraid there was nothing left to pack and deliver,” he said, meeting the grey eyes of his friend with a cocked eyebrow of his own. “Unfortunately, he exploded. I trust they found the room?”

Lucius barked a laugh. “They bloody well did, as you can imagine. Theodore said Mulciber senior is almost frantic, demanding searches to check if he’s still alive, hidden away somewhere, but then he doesn’t move much himself, due to his arthritis. But I do have a surprise for you, Severus. One could almost say it is a belated Christmas present.” 

Leaning forward, he said: “Well?” _Would he have another weekend of manhunting, this time with more than one target?_

“Oh yes, you’ll love this. Our ever diligent source of knowledge says Rabastan has moved into Muggle London. He’s currently living in Croydon, on top of a curry house, posing as what I believe the Muggles call a … “ Lucius almost stumbled over the unfamiliar expression “ … drug … dealer.”

Severus threw his head back and laughed for a full minute, tears almost forming in his eyes as he clutched his stomach. _This was priceless. Too priceless – it was a trap._

“Nice try from our friends,” he wheezed, “can you ever believe Rabastan going Muggle?”

“No,” Lucius said with a mischievous smile, “but that laugh was worth a Christmas present or two, wasn’t it?”

“Absolutely. I only wish it was true. However, I do have an accurate lead on Rookwood. He has a summer house on the Scilly Isles, and the wards I’ve set around the property chimed last night. Why don’t you join me, Lucius? I know you never liked him, after he thwarted your motion to disband the regulations on overseas transactions back in 1981. No one is going to notice a thing, and I’d appreciate help in wrapping up another present for Skeeter. I promise, it’ll be _fun_. Just like old times. Besides, I have a business proposition for you. Would you like to hear it?”

Lucius leaned forward, grey eyes glinting with that kind of cruel curiosity that always signalled his interest. 

Xxxx

On Sunday morning at breakfast, she didn’t even have to sit down to look at the _Prophet_ to realize they had printed another atrocious picture. The retching of several students as she passed through the Great Hall told her to brace herself. 

Quite correctly, the _Prophet_ ran a story with detailed pictures of a very dead and mangled Augustus Rookwood. Once again, the dead Death Eater was delivered to Skeeter, this time with another unauthorized Port-key to her office desk, a Ministry sigil forced down his throat, making the skin on his jugular stand out in a gruesome flesh negative of the Ministry’s sigil. Apparently, the man had died before this was done to his body, but still she shuddered at the abject cruelty.

Avoiding the staffroom, but needing to escape the suffocating atmosphere of her own, cramped and lonely quarters, she hid herself in the library. Her towering piles of books made her desk into a fortress, and her glare encouraged all students to stay away. 

As she heard Francis Heron, Cato Byror and Marius Gewerryn chat in the nearby Restricted Section, she quickly Disillusioned herself. The last thing she wanted was another advance directed at herself. 

Francis said insistently: “Marius, you have to see this. Snape is fucking us all over, I’m sure he’s the new leader of the Death Eaters. Think about it: His position, his knowledge, his temper, for Merlin’s sake, and how he spends almost every single weekend away from Hogwarts.”

“I don’t know,” Marius said slowly. “I can see what you mean, but what does Minerva say?”

Francis scoffed. “Minerva…! She adores him, he’s her golden boy. They all feel so bad about how they treated him when he was Headmaster, so no one will say a thing against him, even though the evidence is glaring us in the face!”

Cato Byror made a noise, indicating his support of Heron’s argument, but Marius said slowly: “I see what you mean, but I think you misunderstand the rest of the staff. My Aurora says…”

The voices moved away from her, but in the days after the incident, she couldn’t help noticing that both Marius Gewerryn and Aurora Sinistra seemed less friendly towards Snape. _And it made her angry – he didn’t deserve that. He might have done awful things, but he was not entirely evil._

  
  


_Xxxx_

  
  


His muscles were sore and stiff after a long, late-night brewing stint in his laboratory. The sludgy thickness of the Burn Healing Paste required vigorous stirring for exactly 53 minutes, and when brewed in a large batch like he did for the Infirmary, it was hard work. As he walked from the dungeons up to the teachers’ swimming pool, he worked his shoulder blades, trying to loosen the knots.

The corridors were cold and dark, the chill from the February cold seeping in through the stone walls, and he hurried to get to the warmth of the bathroom, looking forward to immersing himself into the large pool.

As usual, the tiled room was steamy and damp. The large pool was hidden around the corner, and here, by the entrance, there were dark, wooden benches where one could leave clothes and towels while bathing. The slate-grey walls and floor were lit up by a soft light, stemming from floating globes swaying softly with the tendrils of steam from the bath.

Stepping inside, he realized that there was someone there, already. _Someone who had forgotten to ward the door._ _A witch. Moreover, a witch doing something she had no rights to do in a public bath._ Though he should have walked away, leaving his colleague to her amusements, he Disillusioned and Silenced himself, sneaking forward to find out who it was, his curiosity winning out. 

Turning the corner, he felt the sight like a punch to his stomach, stealing the air from his lungs. _It was her._

There she was, naked as the days she was born, head slung backwards, wild brown hair in a bun, eyes closed, and her right hand was vigorously rubbing her sex, while her left hand caressed her nipples. Severus swallowed, his cock going rigid instantly. 

_He could see her rosy nipples, wet with droplets above the water. The bubbles had been chased away by her movements, and he caught a tantalizing glimpse of pink lips and dark hair between her legs, though it was mostly obscured by her hand. Narrow waist, smooth, creamy skin, firm yet soft tits…_

Severus swallowed. _This was wrong, especially as the chit didn’t want anything to do with him, but oh, this – her pleasuring herself..._

He stood rooted to the spot, knowing that he should sneak away, but he just couldn’t seem to move, as sweat beaded on his brow from the damp heat in the room. Instead he parted his robes, almost without any conscious decision, freeing his cock to stroke himself in time with her rubbing her slit. 

His breath became heavy, much too fast, and he knew his release was imminent. _To see her like that, so hot, so aroused, touching herself…_ Granger’s moans became more frantic, and her movements faster, and with a groan, his hand moving faster, the slapping sound of his flesh louder, he spilled himself, his seed splashing down in front of him.

In the pool, she came with little shrieks and moans, and he stiffened: _Did she just moan his name?_ He was not quite sure, but he thought so, and happiness streaked through him. 

Swallowing, his eyes feeling suddenly clouded, he exhaled deeply, before realizing that his load had fallen outside the perimeter of his Disillusionment. _Gods, he should clean that up, but he couldn’t risk it._ Strangely enough, he felt a little amused by the thought of Granger stepping unknowingly into his pool of come. Chuckling to himself, he silently withdrew, as _she_ sank down into the pool with a satisfied and very sexy little sigh.

Xxxx

The Three Broomsticks was half filled with patrons, and the interior felt nice, warm and cosy after the severe January cold. As she ordered her round at the counter, she heard two witches whisper about Snape.

One of the witches, a small brunette, whispered: “Snape, the new leader… Always been rather dark… Should’ve known…”

The other witch, a tall, leggy blonde, with that ripe beauty that signaled the transition from youth to middle age, giggled. “Gods, I bedded him, you know.”

Her friend made a fake, outraged sound as the blonde continued: “Oh, he was so good. Rough, so dominant, just the way I wanted it.”

With a saucy wink, the brunette mumbled: “I just bet you did. Did you continue this, or..?”

“No,” the blonde said regretfully. “He made it quite clear that it was a one-time thing.”

Hermione frowned, feeling jealousy bloom in her chest. Without thinking, she lobbed a quick _Dia-horr-iblia_ at their glasses, successfully convincing herself that if those witches didn’t recognize such a first-year spell by taste and smell, they’d deserve whatever came their way.

Feeling a tad more relaxed, but slightly ashamed, she sat down at the table with Harry, handing him his beer.

“What’s with the dark countenance?” Harry said with a smile.

“I just heard those witches” – she indicated the bar with her head – “spreading rumours about Snape as the new, dark leader,” she said darkly.

Harry winced. “Oh, _that_ ,” he said.

“Yes, _that_ ,” she said angrily. “Because what did your boss do about those ten fucking Death Eaters that Snape handed to you on a plate? Jemina Avery, at least, is running around free!”

Harry’s face was incredulous. “What..?” he gaped.

“Yes! He and I were attacked on Boxing Day in Hogsmeade, and he Stunned them with a rather nifty spell. Afterwards, he sent a Patronus to Kingsley, telling him where they were and how much time he had before the spell wore off.”

The skeptical look on her friend’s face made her bristle: “I saw it, Harry! I was there.”

Harry looked worried, and flicked a Muffiliato around them.

“Hermione, you are quite sure?” his face was earnest, and those green eyes were imploring her for honesty.

“Absolutely. It was ten to the two of us. And the Patronus was specifically to seek out Kingsley with the message.”

“I’ve never heard about this,” Harry said, clearly unsettled. “At least, we haven’t caught any Death Eaters in more than eight months.”

“Why?” Hermione said slowly. “People obviously see them all the time. Why can’t the Aurors catch them?”

“You tell me,” Harry mumbled. Straightening himself, he said: “I know Kingsley is very worried about the situation with the Minister. Lowering his voice even further, he hid his mouth to avoid any potential lip reading: “The thing is, the Minister is just as worried about the Auror Office specifically. He told me, just before Christmas. And I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

Hermione felt her eyes widen, and she blanched. “Surely not an Auror…” she whispered.

Harry shrugged, and said: “It’s certainly someone in the Ministry, I think, so I’m still not in favour of it being Snape. But he might be a convenient scapegoat for that _someone_.” 

They drank in silence for a while, and then Harry said: “That’s why I’m here, you know. The Minister is coming to Hogwarts for an official visit in the middle of February.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know - this didn't resolve anything. Trust me, it'll be soon. ;-)


	13. Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satisfied, Minerva continued: “How on earth, Severus, did you manage to bollocks this situation with Hermione so completely?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who've read the version on FFnet, this chapter has been split up from the former, heavily revised and rewritten.

**The Daily Prophet 10 February 2000**

_The Minister visits Hogwarts!_

_We’re pleased to inform the public of the Minister’s visit to Hogwarts, says spokeswitch Marigold Lebennon. The Minister will give a speech to all students, get a tour around the school, visiting a few classes as well as meeting the staff. I can tell you, the Minister is very excited to do a formal visit, seeing as he knows how much the school means to our society._

* * *

Minerva walked slowly through the corridor, feeling that ache in her knees that not even poor Poppy’s spells or Severus’ potions could alleviate. _Bugger the arthritis_ , she thought vehemently, as she stopped to rest her joints. 

Young Granger came barreling through the corridor, and Minerva narrowed her eyes. _Something wasn’t right with the girl. There was definitely a run in with Severus, as they obviously weren’t so … friendly ... anymore._

“Hermione,” she called out, and the girl stopped in front of her, smiling politely. “Would you join me in my office, please?”

“Certainly,” the girl said, smiling at her, but her face showed her surprise. They walked in silence to the gargoyle, and Minerva gave the password gruffly:’ _Lochgilphead’._

Secretly, she smiled by the thought of the effort she made Severus put into pronouncing those Scottich village names for setting her wards. _His face, his immaculate spy countenance, invariably cracked up into disbelief and exasperation when she informed him of her new passwords._

The staircase spiraled up, and they entered the Heads office. Minerva felt soothed by seeing so much of her clan’s tartan – _it felt like her childhood home, so relaxing_ – and she sat heavily down on the small sofa by the window, motioning Hermione to sit down too.

“What happened?” She opted to go for Gryffindor bluntness, asking the girl straight out. 

The girl’s eyes widened, and she answered innocently: “Well, my research is going fine, and I’ve been so busy preparing it. I’m fine, thank you, just a little tired.”

Minerva snorted, and said dryly: “Indeed.” Cocking her head, she studied the girl. A blush crept over her cheek, and Minerva gave her a lopsided smile. “Not a good liar, are you lassie?”

Hermione drew herself up, indignantly, preparing to answer, but Minerva interrupted her. “What went wrong between you and Severus?”

The girl paled, and whispered: “How did you know?”

She rolled her eyes, and replied: “Great gods, girl, do you think I’m blind? Besides, I know for a fact he was interested.”

Hermione furrowed her brow, staring at her. “He told you?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, he did. He came asking if there would be any problems due to formalities.”

“Oh,” the girl said, clearly confused. Her pretty little face was all scrunched up, Minerva noticed, and her light brown hair seemed to frizz even more than usual in her bewilderment.

Gently, she told the girl: “Severus has been forced to do a lot of unpleasant things in his life, suffering from manipulations and outright abuse. He deserves some happiness. When he came to ask me about this, I was very happy on behalf of both of you. That’s why I’m sorry to see there’s trouble between the two of you.”

Hermione shook her head slowly, and she said: “I know, really, I do. It’s just not … something I can wrap my head around all that easily. It’s both terrifying and disgusting, really. And there’s the other thing, the most important of all. Surely, you must know… You’ve known him for so long...”

“What?” she replied, “I’m not all that patient with riddles, Hermione. You’d do better telling me straight out.”

“He has a family, a child,” the lass said with conviction, her face resigned, but miserable. 

Minerva felt her jaw fall down in shock. “What?” she almost screeched. “I’ve never… It can’t be true!”

 _And she was very sure it couldn’t be_ . She had known Severus Snape for twenty-nine years, and she was reasonably sure that he’d never had the time nor the inclination to start a family. But, however, she had her suspicions on how Hermione would come to such a conclusion. _Yes, that would be just the kind of thing Severus would be up to, to the detriment of his own happiness. Stupid bloke, so self-sacrificing that he wouldn’t know happiness even if it kissed him on his arse._

Clearing her throat, she peered at Hermione. The girl looked despondent, and bore all the marks of a lovesick fool. Minerva snorted, but reined herself in.

“Hermione,” she said as gently as she could. “I believe you might have misunderstood something important. Have you actually talked to Severus about this?”

The girl reddened, and she mumbled: “No, it was obvious, has been for a while, really.”

Minerva scoffed, and replied: “Don’t let your pride and stubbornness stand in the way of something good, lassie. Talk to him, let him explain what this is. Whatever this is, it’s **not** what you believe.”

Hermione lifted her big, brown eyes to meet her gaze, and Minerva was struck by how the fluttering hope completely transformed the girl’s face. “Do you really believe so?” she whispered. “Because I’ve been worried about doing something immoral and wrong, coming on to a married man.”

Minerva smiled at her, thinking once again that if she had had a daughter, she would have wanted for the girl to turn out like Hermione, silly lovesickness or no. “I’m reasonably sure, Hermione,” she replied, “but with a man like Severus, as you surely realize, one can never be certain unless he tells you himself.” _And,_ Minerva vowed herself, _she would make him tell her. Severus having a bairn! What a preposterous notion._

Xxxx

“The others are interested,” Lucius said, grey eyes observing him carefully. “They aren’t happy with the status quo, and you and I both know our new leader is no … Voldemort.” Lucius still winced a little, saying the name, but Severus knew he was right. _His brethren deserved better._

“I take it they’re amenable to a change, then?” he said, one eyebrow cocked, and Lucius nodded, one elegantly manicured hand holding his crystal cut glass with the deep, fruity red from La Sorciére de Avignon. 

“Of course. We never signed up for being hunted, living like rats and criminals, forever on the run, far from it.” 

Severus gave him a mocking smile, before glancing ostensibly around in the luxurious library of Malfoy manor, taking in the polished mahogany bookcases, the dazzling crystals of the chandelier, the expensive dragonhide chairs, the deep, forest green carpets and the delicate woodwork on spindly table between the two men. “I can _clearly_ see that has been a strain on you,” he commented. 

At that, Lucius grinned, patting the spider-silk lapels on his frock coat. “Not all of our brethren know how to properly … manage .. their life and assets,” he said wryly, “but still. They aren’t happy, and most of them have lost their homes, their income or their family fortune. I believe they would be happy by getting their life back on track, not having to .. scavenge … for food, hiding in derelict houses. And our new leader doesn’t seem to realize he should provide. It is as if running around in masks, doing a few scares is the only plan he has. _Our_ friends aren’t pleased, while others … as you know, prefer this more … brutal … approach.” 

“I can imagine,” Severus said, his eyes darkening. _Loyalty, strength in numbers, supporting your allies had always been the code. This … was an opportunity. To provide for those of his brethren who saw the world like he did, to give them the help they sorely needed, to be the ruler they craved, while also … winning … over the others, loathsome scum as they were._

Xxxx

The Minister arrived with an escort of ten Aurors, while more had scouted the castle before his arrival. The students were gathered in the courtyard as the Apparition wards were lifted to allow the Minister and his guard to Apparate straight into the grounds. When the air _cracked_ around them, Severus shot a quick look at Minerva. He knew she loathed to pretend to control the castle like this.

He gave her a reassuring nod, and she returned a brief smile to him. The castle had grudgingly let down the wards, not being comfortable with lowering the defenses, but it trusted him. 

_Somewhere, deep inside, he felt an odd swelling of something that could be pride. If he wasn’t trusted by the women his stupid heart chose to set its sights on, at least the dratted castle, supposedly only letting the best witches and wizards through to the Head’s chair, had chosen HIM._

Potter was of course Apparating in first with a nonchalant flair, and the students cheered him on. Severus sighed at the sight of that unruly hair and those spellotaped glasses – _really,_ _what did the wizard do to his glasses?_ – and he gave him his best sneer as a ’welcome’. _He did not feel obliged to_ ** _like_** _Potter, even though he had gone out of his way to save the Boy Wonder._

The moron waved happily at Severus and Minerva, as he moved out of the small, roped-off square set up for the Apparitions. After a few more Aurors, the Minister himself entered the square. The cheers were more subdued, but Severus had his suspicions: More than half of them likely didn’t know what the Minister looked like. He met Kingsley Shacklebolt’s eyes over the head of the short, stocky Minister. In those eyes he saw an answer to his own disgust and doubts directed at the Minister. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione and Potter hug, _hard_ , like they had missed each other terribly. For a moment, a pang went through his heart. _They looked so good together: Young heroes, brimming with youth and energy, not like himself, bitter and scarred as he was. Insidious thoughts of Hermione falling into Potter’s welcoming arms crept up on him, how Potter might comfort her, how it might end up in a kiss or more…_ For a moment, jealousy tore through him, ripping him apart as he stared at the two of them, his insides turning to sour acid and a burning green flash.

Taking a deep breath, he found solace in the memory he had watched over and over again in his pensieve, Hermione naked and panting, whispering his name as she came. _She had said HIS name, no one else’s._

Pulling himself together, he noted that Schacklebolt peered at him, a curious little smile on his lips, like he had noted the way Severus had glared at Hermione and Potter. 

  
  


Xxxx

Hermione observed the niceties, smiling, chatting politely with the Minister’s entourage, and she listened to the usual Ministry drivel they spouted. _Like she cared about their little power plays. All she cared for, was the safety of the public. And her friends – and herself – and Severus, she had to admit, grudgingly._

She waited patiently for an opportunity to question the Minister himself. Walking up to him as he left the Great Hall to chat with the staff more privately, she shamelessly exploited her status as a war hero.

“Minister,” she said imperiously, “I’m Hermione Granger. I suppose you know my name.”

Croaker gave her a tired, but heartfelt smile, and he said: “Why, of course, Miss Granger!”

She knew from the gossip in the Ministry that he was always perfunctorily correct and formal. His dress robes were a swirling grey, neatly tailored and pressed, and his black shoes were shining like obsidian glass. 

Smiling back, she lowered her voice: “Minister, I’ve wondered these past months. Why haven’t you informed the public of the Azkaban breakout?”

The Minister shot a long, suspicious glance around them, but made an audible sigh of relief as he spotted Harry trailing close behind them. Deftly, the Minister flicked a Silencing Charm around the three of them, before saying: “Your status as a very special war hero, Miss Granger, urges me to tell you this under full confidentiality. The Auror Office, by Mr. Shacklebolt himself, advised me to keep it under wraps, to not scare the public even further.”

Hermione furrowed her brow slightly, and said slowly: “Is that also why you didn’t notify anyone of the capture, which I _sincerely hope_ you made, of the ten Death Eaters that attacked Professor Snape and me in Hogsmeade at Christmas?”

Croaker stopped short in the corridor, and his face paled visibly. “I’ve never heard about any such incident!” he said, looking extremely upset, fists nervously clenching - _opening_ \- and clenching again. 

Hermione told him of what had happened as they resumed walking. The Minister listened intently, before he interrupted her explanation, saying with a terrible intensity: “Miss Granger, would you be willing to swear to me that you saw this Patronus directed to _Mr. Shacklebolt_?”

“Yes,” she said, pulling out her wand, and said: “I solemnly swear that I saw Professor Snape alert Kingsley Shacklebolt by Patronus to the attack we experienced.” For good measure, she added: “And that Professor Snape Stunned the attackers right before our escape.”

Though they had kept on walking, Hermione noticed the Aurors staring at her and the Minister.

“I promise to look into it,” Croaker said, looking even more worried and careworn than before.

Xxxx 

Everyone was occupied with the Minister, following his entourage back into the Great Hall for dinner, and Minerva took the opportunity to hold Severus back in her office.

“Sit,” she commanded, and the black-haired wizard frowned at her tone – but he did sit down, reluctantly, in a chair in front of her desk.

Satisfied, she continued: “How on earth, Severus, did you manage to bollocks this situation with Hermione so completely?”

He stiffened, drew himself up to his full height, and tried to look down at her from his nose. But she would have none of it.

“Why is Miss Granger convinced that you are married and have a child?” she soldiered on.

The expression on Severus’ face was priceless, and she savoured it for later laughs. That sallow face, elongated in utter astonishment, black eyes with a bewildered expression… _Oh yes, she’d remember it for sure. Never had Severus Snape looked this flabbergasted. She almost sniggered._

Then he took a breath, and his eyes came alive once more.

“What?” he spluttered, shaking his head. “She doesn’t believe that, she’s worried about what I did as a spy!”

“No,” Minerva said calmly, eyes dancing, barely suppressing her mirth, before she amended: 

“That too, I suppose, but the lass seems quite determined to believe that you have a family outside Hogwarts. And she doesn’t want to be a homewrecker.”

Inwardly, she hooted with laughter, as for the first time in the almost thirty years of their acquaintance, Severus Snape seemed to be at a total loss of words. He gaped at her for a long time, before he stared out in the distance, mouth working without any words emerging.

He shook his head once more, and found his voice, tone almost pleadingly: “Minerva, surely _you_ must know what this is, you’ve read the Hogwarts ledger as well as I have.”

“Yes,” she replied calmly, “but what I don’t understand, is why you invest so much into _this_ child. There must be, I _know_ for a fact there are people closer in line to take up such a duty than you. No matter what, you need to tell Hermione the truth.”

Frowning, he looked away, hesitating a little before answering. “It’s difficult for all of us, who were associated with his side _._ To protect this child might signal an attachment to things that are best forgotten. I, however ludicrous it seems, am in the best position to do this, but this is dangerous, very dangerous indeed. And,“ his gaze deepened, as he looked at Minerva with a defiant, proud but strangely hurt look, “I must protect them both at all costs. I might want Hermione, but the truth may put her in danger. As for the child, there is no question about my involvement. I am _her_ Godfather.” 

“Stupid man,” Minerva scoffed, and he stiffened at the slur. “You know Hermione is both loyal and capable, and she can protect your secret. I’m quite sure she’d even help you!”

“She might,” he conceded, “but…”

Minerva interrupted him, like the freight train of a witch she aimed to be: “Shut up, Severus. Go tell her, you’ll be sorry if you don’t. Moreover, _she’s_ sorry too. Why should the two of you suffer for a silly misunderstanding like this? You both deserve something better.”

He sighed. “I don’t like to put her in more danger than she already is,” he said slowly. “ _They_ are after her, you know. This will be another reason for them to hunt her down.” 

“She’s been hunted before,” Minerva said callously.

“Not like this,” he said. Meeting Minerva’s eyes head-on, he continued: “We were attacked in Hogsmeade during Christmas, both of us. We knocked out the Death Eaters, and I notified Kingsley by Patronus. The Auror Office never reacted to the information. I, however, am quite sure they were after _her_ , not me.”

Minerva gasped. “They didn’t respond? Why?”

“I don’t know,” he said slowly, “because they would never tell _me_ anything. I was wondering if you had heard something.”

“No,” she said decisively, mouth pinched into a firm line. “I must say, I’m astounded by this. They never came back to you?”

“Not a word, and then I saw the _Prophet_ reporting a sighting of Avery’s girl, you know, Jemina. I’m sure you remember her, I believe she managed to Transfigure her friend into a moulting chicken in your class once. She was one of our attackers. That’s how I know they didn’t respond to my Patronus.” 

He paused for a moment, as if he was debating if he should say more, but her very real shock seemed to convince _._ “I believe they don’t trust me, Minerva. That’s another reason for Hermione not to be involved with me.”

The old witch smiled crookedly. “For the first time, I expect, you’ll get Slytherin advice from a Gryffindor, Severus. Your association with her could do wonders to your reputation for those who doubt you. Have you thought about that?”

“Of course,” he said, looking slightly offended, “I _am_ a Slytherin.”

“A very unselfish one,” she countered, and he grimaced sourly.

“Still, telling her about my charge does _not_ help with the other ...problem.”

“What you did as a spy,” Minerva said shrewdly. “Does she need to know?”

“She doesn’t know any details, but when we were attacked, one of the Death Eaters shouted something to her that bothered her greatly.”

Minerva shrugged. “The girl knows about your role. She knows that you had to toe the line to avoid being caught and killed. Hermione might be more forgiving than you think, just talk to her, Severus.”

His eyes didn’t meet Minerva’s as he said softly: “Some things are harder to forget than others.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, we're getting 'there', ever so slowly... *grins*


	14. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blanching, she slowly opened her mouth to ask, dreading the answer – it couldn’t be, could it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter was such a short one as some of you noted, so you get another short chapter midweek. This one is named 'Truth', and finally, you'll get some answers. ;-)

**The Daily Prophet 11 February 2000**

_-It’s preposterous, Edina Fawley, respected Wizengamot member says. The Minister spending so much Auror researches on a social call to Hogwarts, when the times are so dire? Those Aurors protecting him at his visit - to the most secure place in Britain, I might add, would have been of better use if they had worked on catching the Death Eaters. I’m going to raise the question of his extravagant spending myself at the next Meet. We must put an end to this!_

* * *

With more than a little trepidation, Hermione realized Minerva was right. _She shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, that was sloppy science. And that was simply not something Hermione Granger did. Careful research, verifying facts, that was how she operated._

Still, she felt nothing but queasy by the thought of asking Severus Snape straight out if he was an adulterer. She feared both _knowing_ that he was, as well as his immediate, furious reaction – no matter if it was true or not.

As she approached the door to his office, the dungeon freezing cold around her, her steps slowed, and her stomach sank. Sweat pooled in her armpits, and her heart thudded in her chest. She stopped outside, lifting her hand slowly to knock, but not quite making herself do it. _Don't be such a chicken!_ she told herself sternly, _be a Gryffindor!_

Quick steps drummed in the hallway, and she whirled around, seeing him coming towards the door, robe billowing as always behind him. She swallowed, as he slowed down, and he arched an eyebrow as he questioned with surprise in his voice: “Were you looking for … me, Granger?”

“Yes,” she said with determination, bringing out her courage once more. “And it’s Hermione, you know.”

At that, he looked surprised, one eyebrow rising: “Very well. Do come in, Hermione.” 

Somehow, she picked up nervousness from him. It heartened her a little, knowing that he too felt apprehension for the conversation that was about to come.

Entering, he ushered her through his office into his private quarters. She shivered by the featherlight touch of his hand on her back. His chambers were comfortably warm, but dark, and lights flared up when he entered. She speculated idly if he had lit the room with wandless and wordless magic, or if the lights in his room were keyed to his presence. 

“Tea? Or coffee?” he asked, as she sat down on his uncomfortable leather sofa, feeling the roaring heat of his fireplace warming her front. She hugged her knees, and said quietly: “Tea, please.”

He Summoned a tea set, and with a flick of his finger, a kettle in the small kitchenette whistled. 

“I only keep Earl Gray on stock here,” he said, “and I hope that’ll do? If not, I’ll ask the kitchens, they have a wide selection, as you, of course know…”

She really looked at him, then, and _oh gods_ , uneasiness was rolling off him in waves. He was positively babbling. _Severus Snape was nervous, there was no doubt about that._

Smiling a little at the incongruous, incompatible words: _Snape_ and _nervousness_ , she said: “It’ll be fine. Milk please, no sugars.”

“Yes, I know,” he said, preoccupied, as he spooned loose-weight tea leaves into the pot, followed by water from the kettle. They were both silent, waiting for the British solution for everything bad, the tea pot steeping for a few minutes. 

Finally, Snape poured the tea, and Hermione gave off a deep sigh, taking a large sip with closed eyes. It was hot, strong and perfectly dosed. She had expected nothing less, though.

“I need to ask you something,” she began, as he simultaneously said: “I need to tell you something.”

They both stopped, looking at each other, and he shook his head ruefully, saying: “Minerva’s doing. She’d be laughing so hard right now if she knew.”

“I suppose so,” Hermione replied, ducking her head to avoid his gaze. “She told you about ... our conversation?”

“She told me what you believe, and she urged me to talk to you.”

“Hmm,” Hermione said, before mustering her courage to boldly meet his eyes, “she told me that I was wrong.”

“You are,” he said, holding her gaze with intensity. “I don’t have a wife or a child of my own.”

“But there _is_ a child,” she said, listening to what he had left unspoken.

“Yes.” The silence was heavy, and Hermione waited for him to continue.

He exhaled, and looked at her again, black eyes almost pleading. “I need you to swear silence on your wand to be able to tell you more.”

“Oh.” Her first thought was: _Didn’t he trust her? What could be so dangerous about this?_ But then she pulled herself together. _This was Severus Snape, not some flimsy, scatterbrained wizard. If he needed a Wand Oath, it was probably important._

So she lifted her wand, saying: “I solemnly swear on my wand and magic that I will keep my silence on what I’m about to hear, until Severus Snape see fit to release me from the promise.”

He sighed, rubbing his eyes, and said gently: “Thank you. I am Godfather to a little girl. She’s orphaned, and her heritage makes her the ultimate weapon for some, and a cause for scrutiny and vilification from others.”

Blanching, she slowly opened her mouth to ask, dreading the answer – _it couldn’t be, could it?_

But he interrupted her: “Yes. It’s Voldemort’s daughter.” Softly, he continued: “She’s just a little girl. If people knew, she’d be monitored, tested and observed like an interesting specimen her whole life. I believe she should have a chance to grow up without that hanging over her head. I don’t think that the sins of the father – or the mother too, in this case – should be revisited on the child.” 

_Gods. Voldemort had a child._ Shuddering, she remembered that skeletal, pale, red-eyed _thing_ . _Who would bed such a wizard? Earlier, he had told her that Voldemort had been sexually active, but this – the blatant, obvious proof of that, made her feel a little sick._

She really didn’t know what to say, but croaked out: “Does she know?”

“Not yet. She’s, after all, merely two years old. But she’s already exhibiting very strong unintentional magic. In all probability, she’ll be a very powerful witch. Her name is Morgana.”

 _Morgana, an unusual name for a witch, or at the very least, it showed that her father had had quite the expectations for his heir,_ Hermione rather thought. Then again, it was hard to say what someone like Voldemort would feel was a suitable name for a _baby_ , of all things. “What’s she like?”

“She’s quiet, intelligent, quick to anger, but she’s also a charming, lovable child who knows how to get what she wants. But maybe that’s what I’m looking for, because that is the very thing I would expect from the Dark Lord’s daughter,” he said a little helplessly.

Hoping to the gods that the mother wasn’t some poor, forced thing, she asked: “And who’s the mother?”

Snape leaned back in his wing chair, steepling his hands across his stomach. His eyes never left hers as he said softly: “Bellatrix Lestrange.”

Hermione fought down bile – _that crazed, sadistic bitch – a mother?_ Remembering the torture she went through in Bellatrix hands, she shuddered visibly, saying curtly: “Poor child.”

“Indeed,” he said, voice gravelly, but his black eyes became stern, like she had said something wrong. “Death Eaters are hunting her for obvious reasons. Currently, she’s placed with a witch I trust, but it might not be safe enough, as things are picking up. I visit as often as I can. I made a promise, I’ve committed myself. I will keep her safe.”

She nodded slowly, feeling oddly touched that he’d be so protective, even towards this child, though the entire wizarding world might feel fear, loathing and hatred against this small girl. “What will you do?” 

He shrugged. “I might have to bring her to Hogwarts, but you know what kind of questions _that_ will bring. If I do, I’ll have to claim her as my own, or else she’ll be taken in custody by the Ministry.”

Brow furrowing, she asked: “Well, doesn’t the Ministry know, already?”

“They don’t. The only one with access to all magical births in Britain, is the Hogwarts’ Headmaster. Minerva knows. And the Death Eaters know, of course. And I’m certainly not going to tell the Ministry.”

She sipped her tea again, thinking. _If I want to pursue a relationship with him, I get a step-daughter, born from Voldemort and Bellatrix. That’s essentially what he’s asking. Her parents might be the worst criminals Britain has seen, but still, like he said, she’s a child, and not responsible for what her father and mother did. An innocent child – who deserves a chance, just like he said. Remember: You check all facts and verify for yourself – that’s how you make good decisions. You need to see for yourself._

Pulling herself together from the shock, the disgust and dread churning inside her, she asked calmly: “When can I meet her?”

Xxxx

He stared at her, swallowing convulsively, making the scars left from Nagini’s attack strain and hurt, his mind spinning. There she was, in the glory of her youth, so very beautiful, soft brown eyes shining, reaching out to him with her heart on her sleeve, and… _gods, whenever had he deserved someone like her?_

Clearing his throat, he tried to arrange his thoughts properly. _She wants to meet Morgana. Does that mean she wants a relationship too, overlooking my actions as a Death Eater spy?_

Remembering Minerva’s advice - _talk to her, why should you both suffer?_ \- he ventured carefully: “That can be arranged, if you want to.”

Hermione nodded, and he felt a tiny flare of relief. Pausing a little, he decided to ask her about what he had thought bothered her these last weeks. “I got a strong impression that you were worried about my Death Eater activities. I don’t know what to say, except for … like I told you, I didn’t want _that_ ..” _He felt stupid, silly really, saying something like that. Severus never talked about his emotions, but then again, he never had anyone to share his emotions with either._

Hermione looked a little apprehensive, and said slowly: “I don’t know what to ask either. I’m quite sure I don’t want to know any details. Except for…” she hesitated.

He prodded, as the silence stretched: “Except for what?”

“I still don’t see how you could make something like that work for you, but I would like to know if it was voluntary in the beginning. I would like to know why you joined Voldemort in the first place, and if this was the sort of thing you were looking forward to.”

 _Ah, clever girl,_ he thought, silently relieved. He was pleased that she hadn’t asked about the number of his victims or details – _any details at all_ , but this was a more fundamental question – one that was so much more important. _She wanted to assess his character._

Out loud, he said: “Everyone knows why I joined in, at least partsof it, thanks to Potter spreading my memories all over the place. Bitterness, anger, lost love – you know. But I can reassure you, I wasn’t looking for rape. I was ordered to do a lot of things I personally found distasteful.”

“Will you show me how you felt when you joined _him_?” she asked.

He looked away. _Think, Severus, think. To show her this might secure her affection, even though these are painful, dangerous and embarrassing memories. The gain is potentially a lifetime with her._ _If you don’t, you will lose her anyway. Really, this was an easy, but humiliating gamble._

Severus nodded, and rose to get his pensieve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read the FFnet version, you'll note that I changed the name of Voldemort's daughter to Morgana. I feel this is the "right" name for Voldemort's daughter. 
> 
> On FFnet, I used the name Delphini, though this story has nothing else to do with the CC plot apart from the fact that Voldemort and Bella had a child. For those of you who can’t stand the CC, I sort of agree with you - except for the fact that I LOVED the idea that Voldemort had a child. But the name ... nah, I can't see why he'd choose that name (and yes, this means that I think Bella had absolutely no saying in her daughter's name).


	15. Breaking the Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitterly, he added: “I was so happy I met him. He collected people, and I was so ready to be harvested.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks you so much for reading, commenting and giving kudos!  
> I need to say two things about this chapter before you read it:  
> First: Trigger warning - this chapter deals with a very abusive relationship between Severus' parents. It isn’t graphic, but it’s decidedly … distasteful. Might be the darkest thing I ever wrote.
> 
> Second: Severus' memories are heavily inspired by the Judas Priest song 'Breaking the Law'. If you’d like a soundtrack to this chapter, go ahead to listen to it (take note of the roaring motorbike in the middle of the song...). Lyrics quoted below.
> 
>  **Breaking the Law**
> 
> _There I was completely wasting, out of work and down  
>  All inside it's so frustrating as I drift from town to town  
> Feel as though nobody cares if I live or die  
> so I might as well begin to put some action in my life _
> 
> _So much for the golden future, I can't even start  
>  I've had every promise broken, there's anger in my heart  
> You don't know what it's like, you don't have a clue  
> if you did you'd find yourself doing the same thing too _  
>    
> _You don’t know what it’s like  
>  Breaking the law, breaking the law, breaking the law_  
> 

**The Daily Prophet 11 February 2000**

_Auror in training, Harry Potter, refused to answer any questions about how many Auror guards Minister Croaker employed for his visit to Hogwarts yesterday. The Prophet met Potter as he was emerging from his home in 12 Grimmauld Place. Potter seemed disgruntled, trying to avoid our questions, as you will see from the photo series. His girlfriend Ginny Weasley wasn’t forthcoming either. To our journalist, it seems like Potter is dissatisfied with being a bodyguard to our errant Minister instead of doing real Auror work, but he may not be allowed to speak of it._

* * *

Pausing over his pensieve, he told her: “It’s not possible to know for sure, but I believe I was chosen as Godfather because … Well, I might have been one of the very few who still could see him as that brilliant, charming man who showed unwavering support and protection to those he considered his close followers.” 

Peering at her, he could see her nod, but he was sure, the message hadn’t really sunk in. _She’d never understand those very conflicted emotions he held concerning the Dark Lord. Voldemort, his friend and mentor, his source of magical knowledge, his exacting master, his cruel commander, his almost-killer._

Sighing, he decided to make an effort to explain. _If he was going to trust her with his dark and turbulent past, he might as well try._ “Hermione, he was once my _friend,_ strange as it may sound, though I know he never saw it that way. I can’t deny it, not with what you’re about to see. I hope you will ... I don’t expect you to _understand_ , exactly, but at least I hope you’ll see why I felt that way, in the beginning.” 

Her eyes were big, dark, golden-tinged orbs, and she nodded slowly, though her expression still showed so much insecurity and confusion. Sighing, he stretched out his hand, and together, they plunged into his memories.

Xxxx

The street was dusty, and heat shimmered across the tarmac. The houses on each side were small, but nice-looking and well-kept. Beside her, in the memory, _her_ Severus stood, crossing his arms, but looking uncomfortable. His voice a deep rumble in his chest, he told her: “This is the summer of 1976. This memory is directly related to what happened in later years.” 

Towards them, in the middle of the road, a tall, thin teenage boy came slouching. She shot a quick look at Snape for confirmation, and he quirked his lips slightly, nodding.

 _Oh. So this was a sixteen year old Snape, then._ She peered at the boy with curiosity, and smiled at the similarities with the tall, powerful man beside her – though, she smiled even more at the differences.

The young Severus was much slighter of build, didn’t hold himself so rigid and straight, and he just oozed teenage insecurities and grumpiness. The large, hooked nose was in place, somehow looking even bigger in the thinner face, and the hair was still long and lanky. But the most notable difference made her giggle. She turned to Snape, and said with disbelief: “You had a _tan?”_

He looked exasperated down at her, and said heavily: “Yes. You’ll see why in a short while.”

The boy slinked off to the side of one street to look over a fence. Immediately, they heard a yell from the other side, the voice belonging to a young girl. “Sweet Mary, Lily, he’s here again, that awful boy, he’s peeping at us! You said he was going to stay away!”

The Severus beside her cringed a little, and the boy did so too, as a yellow flash from a hex was lobbed over the fence at the boy. The young Snape instantly conjured a shield, and the hex clashed into it, making sparks fall. The boy turned away, walking quickly down the street.

“Was that Harry’s aunt?” Hermione whispered.

“Yes,” he said, “that was the charming Petunia, and the hex, of course, came from…” he trailed off.

She nodded, and whispered: ”I understand.”

Sharply, he said to her, in his most professorial tone: “You don’t need to whisper. They can’t hear you, no matter what we do.”

“Yes, sir,” she said loudly, giving him a small smile, and squeezed his hand. _She had no trouble understanding that this was difficult for him, so she supposed she should bear over with his short temper – this time._

As they followed the young boy down the street, the houses gradually changed. The lawns were less well-tended, and the houses had traces of disrepairs. Then the boy turned sharply to the right, into a narrow street where the houses were even more rundown, and the yards behind the walls were shabby.

“Spinner’s End,” the man beside her said bitterly, “my home.”

She said nothing, just grasped his hand again to squeeze it. This time, she didn’t let go. 

In the middle of the street, a couple of young, Muggle men stood. Hermione supposed she’d call them thugs by the look of them, and as they noticed the young Snape, they sauntered towards him, with a menacing air to them.

“Hey Snape, your Da’ owes us. What are you going to do about that?” A big, burly youngster in a leather jacket called out, and the rest of them grinned stupidly at their leader. The skinny teenage boy stopped, eyeing them carefully.

“Last time, your Da’ let us use your Mum as we liked. Did you know she was a screamer?”

Hermione gasped, and the young boy in front of them tensed up. ”I don’t believe you,” he said curtly.

“You’d better,” the youngster said grinning wickedly, swaggering towards them. Young Snape moved around them, like he was positioning himself for a fight, but edging closer to one of the houses.

The Snape from _her_ time leaned down, and said calmly: “I'm trying to get close to the edge of the property, so that I wouldn’t get in trouble with the Underage Magic Restrictions for cursing. The Ministry was more lax in those days, only reacting to Curses. Not defensive magic or simple hexes.”

“Running away, are you?” another one in the gang jeered.

“In your dreams,” Snape-the-boy said, a rather nasty look in his black eyes. Wandlessly, he pulled the legs out underneath the boys, landing them on their arses in the street. Then he proceeded to curse them. 

Hermione had no idea which spell he actually used, but the effect seemed to be much the same as a Muggle thrashing would have been. The young men were yelling, their feet thrumming against the ground, writhing in pain as something invisible pummeled them mercilessly, leaving them bruised and broken. 

After a few minutes, the boy lashed his wand at them, casually Obliviating the gang, before entering the closest property by the gate. 

Hermione and the older Snape moved after, and the boy slammed the front door of a very derelict house. She couldn’t help looking at the man beside her: _Did he really grow up in such poor conditions?_ The grim line of his mouth told her the answer.

A large man barreled out of the kitchen, a bottle of brandy in his hand. _He looked an awful lot like Severus,_ she thought, _but the ruddy face and the heaviness of his frame were far from what she could see of Severus right now._

“Boy, did you get it?” the man demanded, brandishing his bottle.

The young Snape rolled his eyes. “Which one, do you mean?”

“You fuckwit, any of them! Don’t tell me, they saw you’re useless right away. Damn nancy boy you are, no one will ever need you for a job. There’ll be no help in bringing in money from you, all you do is spend, spend, spend on that fucking school of yours.”

She could see an expression of hurt pass over the teenager’s face, but he straightened himself, looking angry too. “You’re right, I didn’t get any of them. Seems like they only need people that are too stupid to see when the bottle is empty. Like _you_. Why don’t you get a job, Da’?”

Hermione felt like everything happened in slow motion, and she could only stare in horror, as the big, burly man dropped his bottle and bellowed, advancing on the boy with swinging fists. 

Young Snape took a step back, drawing his wand and with a snarl he Stupefied his father. The limp body thudded heavily to the floor, and a shriek was heard from the kitchen door.

Hermione looked up, seeing a thin, pale woman leaning on the door frame, one hand pressed to her mouth.

“Severus!” the woman wailed. “You shouldn’t do such things to your Da’!”

The boy looked lost for a moment, staring at her. He pulled himself together, and said with a sneer: “Ma, we don’t have to put up with this. He’s a fucking _Muggle_ , he shouldn’t be able to hurt us. Use your magic, for Merlin’s sake! Teach him a lesson, like I do!”

“No,” she said, tears in her eyes, almost whimpering. “I can’t do that, he’s too strong. And you mustn’t either. Every time you use your magic in front of him, he takes it out on me. When you leave for Hogwarts, there’ll only be us. And then, he…” the woman brought herself up short, and clamped her lips together.

“Does he hurt you more when I’m not there?” the boy said, fury in his voice.

“No, no, of course not,” the woman whispered, looking away from her son. “Forget about it, but please don’t make him angry, Severus, please don’t.”

Xxxx

With a rush to her ears, they were back into Severus’ office, she stared at him, horrified. “You grew up with _that?_ ” she whispered, putting a hand on his arm.

“Yes,” he said curtly, hiding his face from her. “This was my dear, ol’ Da’.” Clearing his throat roughly, he continued: “I wanted to show you what it was like, so that you’ll understand what happened later. And, Hermione, you must brace yourself.”

“Ok,” she said, swallowing. _If this was necessary to see for her understanding, then she was sure nothing good would follow._ He took her hand again, and they dove back into the pensieve.

Xxxx 

It was summer again, but the young man sitting in front of her, drinking tea in the kitchen, was obviously older. He was taller, and he had filled out a little more. Looking curiously at the adult Severus beside her, he said: “This is the next summer. Like I said, brace yourself.”

Tobias Snape shuffled into the kitchen, looking bleary-eyed. A strong smell of last night’s drinks and stale sweat permeated from his body and crumpled clothes. The man scowled at his son, and went to the refrigerator, rummaging around. With a yell, he slammed the door shut, and turned to face Severus.

“It’s fucking empty!”

Young Severus said calmly: “There’s food.”

“Damn it, boy! Didn’t I tell you to go buy more beer?”

“You did. I didn’t buy any.”

The big man lurched toward the table, looming over the sitting, young man, bellowing: “The only thing your whore of a mother was good for, was to keep the fridge filled with beer! Apart from that, she was useless like you!”

“Stop insulting my mother,” the young Snape said threateningly. “I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

“You would be, if you couldn’t wave that stick around!” the man roared, face reddening with anger. “Your slut mother at least knew enough to lay still with her legs spread for anyone who would pay!” The man’s eyes glinted viciously.

“Shut up!” young Severus bellowed, pointing a finger at his father. Startled, Hermione almost jerked, suddenly seeing the angry Potion’s teacher from her childhood in the young man.

But his father wasn't swayed by the burning rage in his son's eyes. “You shut up! Where do you think we got money after I lost me job last year, eh? Your mother serviced anyone who wanted to have her, ugly, scrawny thing she was.”

“You don’t talk about my mother like that!” Severus yelled, and she felt the grown, real Severus beside her tense.

“I get to talk about her anyway I like! She finally died, and I got rid of her!” The big man looked almost demented now, a crazed look in his eyes, and he lowered his voice: “She died here in the kitchen, you know. I roughed her up, because the last customer didn’t pay her, said it wasn’t good enough to pay for, lazing on the job, that stupid bitch. Then she fell, smashing her head into the stove. Took forever to clean off the blood.”

The young man paled, and he whispered, his voice low and dangerous: “You killed my mother? There was no accident, like you told me.” His body was still, like a coiled snake poised to strike, but his wand was already in his right hand. 

The big man stopped short, paling slightly, like he suddenly understood he had gone too far, sensing the tension, like he finally understood that his son might be the biggest predator in the room. Tobias Snape backed off a few steps, raising his hands as if to shield himself, and his mouth opened to say, clumsily: “Hey, now, I didn’t mean it like tha’…”

But the young man’s voice rose, eyes glinting with a terrible hurt and fury, and he repeated in a roar: “You KILLED my mother!” Wand arm extended, he yelled: “ _Avada Kedavra_!”

The adult Severus pulled her out of the memory, as green light filled the kitchen.

Xxxx

Hermione stumbled out, clutching Severus’ coat. She only stared at him wide-eyed, and he looked away, mouth a thin line. Softly, he said: “This was my first kill.”

She nodded, still speechless. Seeing her stricken look, he said heavily: “Maybe this was wrong, I shouldn’t have shown you this. I understand if you want to leave now.”

“No”, she croaked out. “No…” She pulled him into a fierce hug, and hid her face into his chest, wanting to cry for the awful childhood he had had and for the horrors poor Eileen Prince had been put through. 

His arms came up around her, clutching her convulsively, and he rested his face on the top of her head. They stood in silence for a while, her tears soaking his frock coat, before she looked up at him, saying with determination: “What you did was perfectly understandable. I’m…I’m so sorry, no one should have a childhood like that.”

“Understandable..." he muttered, like he was tasting the word, like it was unfamiliar to him. " Understandable _indeed_ ,” he repeated with a note of surprise, before he added, “but this is the real backdrop for why I joined the Dark Lord. It wasn’t only because of Lily.”

She nodded grimly, and squeezed his arm.

“Are you ready?” he said, and again they fell into the pensieve.

Xxxx

The young Severus was in the backyard of the house, staring down at a large, black beetle. A very dead beetle.

Hermione looked up at him, and he said impassively: “Yes, that’s him. I Transfigured him, and left him to rot in the garden, claiming that he had just disappeared. The authorities believed he had fallen drunk into the river.”

The sudden lurch of Apparition went through them – though faintly, like an echo, and they were standing in Diagon Alley. The young man strolled down the street in the direction of Flourish and Blotts, and they followed close behind.

“Hey, Snape!” a voice called out, and young Severus turned around.

Another teenager came up to him, a short, well-dressed boy with blonde hair, smiling cordially. They exchanged pleasantries, and then the other man asked: “What are you doing here today?”

Adult Severus leaned down to her, whispering: “Damien Rosier, Evan Rosier’s father. He was in my class at Hogwarts. He … we were friends.”

She nodded, looking curiously at the two young Death Eaters-to-be.

“Nothing,” young Severus shrugged, “my father just died, so I thought I’d get away for a bit.”

The other boy’s eyes became round, and he gulped out a hasty: “Sorry to hear that, my condolences.”

“Don’t be,” Severus shrugged, “he was a piece of shit.”

“Oh.” Rosier became quiet, fidgeting a little. Then he said: “Maybe you’ll join us for dinner, then? My mother has invited some guests you might find interesting.” His voice lowered to a whisper, and he continued, imbuing the words with meaning: “Lord Voldemort.”

Severus whistled, looking surprised, his voice equally low as he responded: “Your family decided to join?”

“Yes,” Rosier said, “we have. It’s our duty as Pure-bloods.”

Severus nodded, and grimaced. “Do you think I’ll be welcome? I’m not…” he stopped haltingly.

“I know. I don’t think it matters to him, as long as one isn’t Muggleborn. Come along.”

The memory blurred, like it was fast-forwarded, and Hermione glanced at adult Severus, saying with astonishment: “I didn’t know one could do that!”

“Now you know,” he said grimly. Then his eyes darkened, and he said softly: “And here’s the first time I met the Dark Lord.”

The dining room was large, and sumptuously decked out. To Hermione, it was clear that the Rosiers were very well-to-do. Crystal chandeliers floated in the ceiling, brightening the room with a soft, warm light, and a white damask cloth covered the dinner table. Silver-laced goblets, heavy silver cutlery with monograms, and bone-white china covered the table. Giving it a closer look, Hermione could see that it was actually made of bones. _Gods, dragon bone china. It must have cost a fortune,_ she thought.

In the drawing room, clearly visible between the open double doors, she could see Severus and Damien Rosier skulking close to the doorway. They each held a glass of champagne, and they were both stretching their necks to see what happened in the center of the room.

Hermione and Severus moved closer to the doors. Beautifully dressed people were gathered in a ring, the two teenage boys standing on the outskirts. Bouts of laughter and snippets of conversations floated through the room, and suddenly the crowd parted, letting the man holding all the attention come into their view.

Her breath caught in her throat. _That had to be Voldemort, though she could barely believe it._

A very handsome wizard, impeccably dressed in black dress robes, stood tall in the middle of the room. He had dark eyes, with jet-black wavy hair falling into his eyes. _Yes, he was very pale, but that was about the only thing he had in common with the snake-faced thing she had seen during the war_. 

Hermione thought he looked like he was in his late thirties, but realistically, she knew he had to be fifty at least. But what captured her attention, was the easy smile, the charming glint in his eyes, and the way that his magic rolled off him in a very tangible way, making her flesh tingle.

She darted a glance at Severus, and he was observing her, a look of wry amusement in his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly, “everyone reacted like this. This was the Dark Lords’ party façade, and you would have been jaded indeed to not feel his charm. That’s not to say he didn’t use scare tactics, but to gain followers and money, this was what he did. And,” Severus chuckled a little, “this was the way he gained women too.”

Exhaling, letting out the breath she hadn’t realized she’s been holding, she nodded weakly. _Who indeed would be able to resist such a charm? She was not sure she’d be able to herself, and that with the full knowledge that this man was a vicious killer, a mad tyrant and a first rate dark wizard._

Then the man strode forward towards the two, teenage boys.

“Young Rosier,” he said, in a deep voice, with a smile that seemed genuinely happy. “I’m proud to count you and your family amongst my followers today. Later, I’ll show you that curse we talked about last time we met. But who’s your dark friend?” His gaze moved to Severus, eyes reflecting a keen interest and something Hermione only could describe as _joy_ _._ _As if he genuinely liked meeting new people, though that was surely not ... true._

Memory-Severus shifted nervously, and held out his hand in response to Voldemort’s outstretched hand. He looked virtually star-struck as they shook hands, Rosier introducing them.

“I can sense that you’ll grow into a very powerful wizard,” Voldemort said thoughtfully, and nodded as Rosier mentioned the Prince family. “Ah, yes, the Princes. That’s a good family with strong magical traits. How’s your mother?”

“Errm, she died this spring, my Lord,” Severus said, expression turning glum.

“My condolences,” Voldemort said lightly, and then he inquired: “And your father, which family does he belong to?”

Severus reddened slightly, and opened his mouth, but Rosier interrupted glibly: “My Lord, Severus is a Half-blood, but please believe me, he’s one of the best in our year and has always been so.”

“I can believe that,” Voldemort mumbled, and cocked his head at Severus. “You live with _Muggles_ at the moment?” he said, an expression of distaste on his face.

“Not anymore,” Severus said defiantly, before adding: “Not after today.” 

“What happened today?” Voldemort asked, looking even more interested.

“My father died this morning, my Lord,” Severus said curtly. He looked up to meet Voldemort’s eyes, and then he stiffened, standing stock still as if in shock.

The adult Severus by her side muttered to her: “He’s using Legilimency on me. At first, I think he was merely curious about how I felt about my Muggle family, but then he, of course, found the memory you saw earlier. Watch him, now.”

Voldemort’s eyes widened, and then he laughed, amusement and fascination shining from his dark eyes. He put his arm around Severus’ shoulder, and said: “You, my friend, will be quite the wizard. I will follow your progress through school, and I’ll put in a word for you when you finish Hogwarts. Potions mastery, is it?”

Severus looked awestruck, nodding fervently.

The tall wizard moved on, squeezing the teenagers arm, and said: “Come and see me later this summer. You and I will have _much_ to discuss.”

Xxxx

The retreat from the memory felt like a crash landing, her feet thudding down at the stone floor in Severus’ chambers. She staggered, holding on the table for support, her breathing a little too fast.

Severus cocked an eyebrow to her, and said: “I hope I don’t have to be jealous of the late Dark Lord?”

“What, no!” she said, flustered. “But he was nothing like what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” he said, curiously.

“I don’t know, something more sinister, something more … fake. He seemed authentic, like he really was a nice man,” she said slowly.

Severus barked a laugh, and said shortly: “Trust me, he wasn’t. But he was not all bad.” 

She shrugged, and said: “At least, I can understand why you and others were charmed into following him. It always seemed so unlikely to me that anyone would choose to follow a cruel, snake-faced madman.”

“Indeed,” Severus said. He added: “Though he lost his looks, he still retained that ability to charm. He just didn’t use it so often after his resurrection. His cruelty became more… prominent, so to speak. But this memory … I met him quite often during that summer, and he taught me dark magic, discussed in-depth potions theories with me, and he promised to pay for my mastery. He even taught me Legilimency and Occlumency, telling me that I had a natural aptitude for it. All he did was, of course, to play me, gaining a loyal follower out of my bitterness, anger, sense of loss and the very _entitlement_ I felt as a non-illegible heir to the Prince legacy, just by showing me interest, caring for my finances and my education.” 

Bitterly, he added: “I was so happy I met him. He collected people, and I was so ready to be harvested.”

Hermione swallowed. _No wonder, with that horrid background and a heartache over Lily to boot. It would have been odd indeed, if Severus had withstood all that powerful attention._ She stroked his arm, leaning her head into him.

He looked down at her, eyes dark and inscrutable, and said: “Not scared yet?”

She shook her head, and the infinitesimal shift in his stance and a lessening of his tension told her that he was relieved. But then he tensed up, and he said slowly: “The last two memories I planned to show you, are more directly related to your question. Are you sure you want to see this?” 

To tell the truth, she wasn’t sure at all, but she couldn’t chicken out now. _He_ had lived it, _she_ should be able to just watch it _._ “Yes,” she said, pulling her courage around her like a cloak.

They fell down into the memories again.

Xxxx 

Hermione and Severus landed on a darkening street in Diagon Alley, late at night. It was still summer, and witches and wizards dressed in summer robes passed them, chattering and laughing.

Suddenly, pops of Apparition cracked around them, and several cloaked and masked Death Eaters stormed down the street, wands blazing, cursing everything that moved, breaking shop windows and setting fire to houses. 

“My first raid,” he said, his face curiously blank and his voice impassive. “The objective was only to scare, not to maim or kill. Not ... really.”

She shivered, and he put his arm around her, as if he wanted to shelter her from the scene unfolding in front of them. Wizards and witches ran screaming around, dodging curses and fires, and there – in the middle of the street, Hermione spotted someone who looked a lot like Harry. _Merlin, it had to be James Potter._ And beside him, a slim, pretty girl with red hair – _Lily_ , Hermione gathered, moved lithely as she danced and ducked between the curses, holding up a strong Protego over the two of them, Shielding her lover and herself. 

One of the cowled Death Eaters broke off, sending curse after hex after jinx towards James Potter, and Hermione didn’t need any confirmation from Severus to understand who exactly that Death Eater was.

Both James and Lily were on the defensive, being pressed hard, and the young Death Eater Severus advanced on them, striding quickly towards them with a seemingly unending arsenal of curses, one whizzing by Potter’s head, making the hair on half of his head wither and die in an instant, another ricocheting against the _Protego_ , crashing into a shop window, splintering the window and maiming several people hiding inside. A third opened up a chasm in front of the pair, fires licking up from underneath the great rent in the cobbled street, and they scrambled back from the edge, their back against the abyss, facing Severus, who steadily advanced towards them.

An almighty roar and an ear-splitting crash made everyone duck for cover, but James and Lily sprinted forward, eyes lighting up, and threw themselves on the giant motorbike that had landed in front of them.

“Sirius!” Lily shrieked with relief, and the bike took off with the rider and the young pair, zooming in a zigzag up to the heavens, with Lily’s red hair streaming after the bike, and the sound of Sirius’ familiar, slightly manic laughter trailing downwards.

Young Severus stood still in the dark and suddenly empty street, shooting a strong, jet-coloured beam after the bike, the beam striking the back light, turning it into a murky dust. 

A shouted curse came from the bike, but it winged on towards the skies. With a loud _POP_! young Severus Apparated away, and Hermione and Severus were back in present-day Hogwarts.

Xxxx

Severus sighed deeply, and glanced down at Hermione, still ensconced in his arms. _H_ _ow did she feel? Showing her all this – he certainly hoped it wouldn’t lead to disaster – again._

Scratching his scar on the neck, he swallowed uncomfortably. She was quiet, and he ventured to say something, opting for the honest truth: “You don’t know what it was like. Here I was, trying to prove myself to the Dark Lord, and there _she_ was, on _his_ arm. Jealousy just – made me... crazed… my rage just exploded. I could have hurt her badly. And I wasn’t aiming for hurting Potter, I was in for the kill.”

Moving closer, she hid her face against his chest again. Petting her hair, marvelling that she still wanted to touch him, he said slowly: “I told you. I did bad things.”

But when she raised her face at him, her eyes were big and teary again, and she whispered: “Do you love her still?”

He stilled, swallowing like there was something blocking his throat, affecting his ability to speak. _A lifetime of guilt, a lifetime of love, standing guard like a dark shadow against the light of his possible future. His future with Hermione._ Breaking the spell of his past obsession, he said at last: “No.” Lifting his hands to thumb her cheek, he brushed her tears away. “ _That_ ended as the war ended.” 

Smiling at her in wonder, he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that as he showed her atrocities and nightmares from his own, personal hell, trusting her with his humiliating, dark past, all she wanted to ask was if he still loved another woman.

At his words, Hermione’s eyes lit up, and she stood up on her toes, and gave him a quick peck on his chin – the highest point on him she could possibly reach without him bending down. Severus set his jaw, bracing himself. It was time for that last memory. _Would she still accept him after that?_

Xxxx

Hermione felt Severus clutch her hand, as the memory showed a large room, full of kneeling people, clad in cloaks and silvery masks.

“I’ve just been sworn in as a Death Eater, it’s the end of August in the same year. I’m about to start my seventh year at Hogwarts.”

Her breath hitched, and she said: “Oh, Severus, you were so young.”

He snorted. “The Dark Lord didn’t care about that. I was seventeen, and he was aiming to harness my power for his use.”

“Rise, Severus,” the tall, dark wizard said, and the young man in front of him tottered to his feet.

The adult Severus winced a little, and said: “That Dark Mark, it _hurt._ ”

“Young Severus Snape has joined our ranks, and I envision a bright future for him as one of my Death Eaters,” Voldemort said, and the people in the room cheered. “And now, let the revel begin!” the man shouted, and the cheers became even louder. 

House-elves popped into the room with trays of drinks and food, and Voldemort raised his hand, bringing his pale yew wand down with a swish, revealing a huddled, tied up group of people at the back of the room. Some of the men jeered, and terrified, female shrieks emanated from the group as Death Eaters stalked closer.

Hermione froze, but realized that those poor women had been abused, or dead, for a long time, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

Voldemort beckoned Severus closer, and said with a fatherly smile: “No mere Muggles for you tonight, Severus. Tonight, you’ll feast on the best Pure-blood the country can give you.”

Hermione cringed, as she saw the eager look on the young man’s eyes, and the muscles in Severus’ arm tightened underneath her hand.

“Bella,” Voldemort said, with a wicked glint in his eyes, “come closer, my darling.”

A young, beautiful Bellatrix Black sashayed up to them, eyes glancing coldly, dismissively at Severus, and she curtsied: “Yes, my Lord?”

“You’ll service Severus tonight. At the best of your … considerable … ability, Bella,” Voldemort said with a calculating, amused smile.

“My Lord,” Bellatrix pouted, “I had hoped to hone my Cruciatus tonight, not to entertain _schoolboys.”_ Her voice was full of derision and scorn, and young Severus lost his eager, puppy-dog expression, becoming withdrawn, looking a little lost and angry.

“Please, my Lord?” Bella wheedled, eyes smoldering at Voldemort. “I also - _humbly_ \- hoped to be one of _your_ chosen ones tonight, too.”

Severus cleared his throat, and said stiffly: “My Lord, I can find someone else. I have no wish to force myself upon someone who clearly doesn’t want to…”

Voldemort arched an eyebrow at them, and smiled cruelly. “Oh Severus, you will do just that on my orders, many, many times. I’m sure you’ll be delighted to – after a while. Forcing a woman gives such a _special,_ exquisite pleasure. To start you off on that path, tonight you’ll be welcomed into the unwilling arms of a beautiful, Pure-blooded witch.” 

He turned to Bellatrix, and said callously: “You, my sweet Bella, you _are_ chosen tonight, handpicked by me as a treat for Severus. However,” his eyes darkened with desire, “I’ll watch. Give me a show, Bella, and please Severus – and your Lord.”

He rose, and made a motion with his hand for them to follow. The two young Death Eaters walked slowly behind him, both staring at the other with distaste as they went through a door in the back. 

Severus yanked on Hermione’s arm, and they left the memory.

Xxxx

Stiffly, he said: “No need to watch the rest. But this will give you the idea about what happened later, when I was ordered to… As you can see, I wasn’t exactly thrilled by her being unwilling.”

Hermione leaned into him again. _He was eager at first, but when she declined in the first place, he clearly lost interest. It means he wasn’t turned on by the idea of forcing a woman. But…”_

She couldn’t help asking: “You followed through on his orders? With Bellatrix?”

“Yes,” he said shortly, eyes looking over her shoulder, not meeting hers. “The Dark Lord watched the whole debacle, and afterwards, he had Bella too in front of me. He was quite indiscriminate about things like that. I can guarantee you, I’ve never done anything like that, except on his direct orders. After what happened to my mother, I find it … _very_ … distasteful. You asked me how I could go through with it, and well, there are spells and potions to take care of the ability to perform, and Occluding also helps.”

She sighed, and said: “I’m sorry you had to go through all this again, Severus, but I’m glad you showed me this. Now, I know more about why things happened. I don’t believe you sought this out to … inflict pain, though it’s still kind of hard to contemplate the whole thing.” 

Falling silent, she tried to clear her mind. _He hadn’t joined to rape or kill. He had joined because he was a desperate, lonely teenager, who had gone through hell in his home, who had lost the girl he loved to his enemy. Trapped by the deadly spin from Lord Voldemort, he had been driven to do unspeakable things, later on behalf of the Order too. Could she blame him for executing those commands, to ensure the Order had vital information on the Death Eaters? Could she really blame him for sacrifying everything to win the war?_

“And, how do you feel…?” he said after a while, the tension almost breaking his voice. She raised her face to him again, with a trembling smile, and said: “I’m not afraid to be with you.”

Breath hitching, his head swooped down to capture her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut-cliffie - is that a word? I promise, it will be there, in the end... ;-)


	16. The Charge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her breath hitched, and in that exact moment, there was a frantic knocking on his door.

**The Daily Prophet 12 Februar 2000**

_Gossip column: Auror in training, Ron Weasley, was spotted hitting the clubs in Diagon Alley yesterday. As you all know, war hero Ron Weasley had a short lived relationship with Golden Girl Hermione Granger, before the two split up. Since then the young war hero has ruthlessly pursued the beauties of Wizarding Britain. Rumour has it, Playwizard model Jenna Shacklebolt is pregnant with Weasley’s child. That didn’t stop the young playboy from charming the ladies last night, and we wonder, will he ever settle?_

* * *

She gasped into his mouth, as he prodded her open with his tongue, licking her lips, finding her own tongue to tangle and stroke. Grasping his arms, she tilted her head up, pressing her breasts into him. 

He snaked an arm around her, crushing her to him, and she could feel the very real evidence of his arousal pushed into her stomach. _Gods, he really was big, she could clearly feel the outline of his cock through their clothing, like a hard iron rod poking her._

Panting slightly into his mouth, she kissed him fiercely back, and his other hand came up, hands tangling in her hair, grabbing a fistful of curls, and he clutched her to him possessively, like he would never let her go. 

She whimpered a little, with an odd mixture of pleasure and pain, pain at having her hair pulled, and pleasure because … _There it was, she wanted him to be in power, in control over her body, and it was better than she had imagined, the need to let go of it all consuming her._ Wetness soaked her knickers, and her belly caught fire.

Writhing against him, she felt that strong, hard, tall body rubbing against her as he devoured her mouth. Pulling her head aside, he attacked her neck, and she shivered, feeling tendrils of fiery shocks connecting her neck and belly. She tilted her pelvis to rub her sex against his thigh to relieve the throbbing tension, and he growled: “So hot for me, you little minx, rubbing that delicious body of yours against me. Do you know what you do to me, witch?”

She only moaned, as he pulled her head back, licking and lightly biting her throat, before he said silkily again: “Do you know what you do to me? Answer me, witchling!”

“I…” she gasped, feeling as if her brain had lost the ability to find words, “I, I …oooh,” she stuttered.

“Answer me!” he almost snarled against her throat, thrusting his hips against her stomach, that considerable bulge rubbing her.

“I make you hard!” she almost whined, feeling as if she was drowning, the only thing holding her up was his arms. 

“Yes, that’s right, little witch,” he purred, hot breath tickling the sensitive skin on her throat, “You make me so hard, and I can’t wait to see that luscious body I’ve been fantasising about for the last months.”

Her breath hitched, and in that exact moment, there was a frantic knocking on his door.

He groaned, scrubbing his hands across his face, and gave her a look which told her he clearly wasn’t done with her yet. She quickly composed her face, smoothing her hair as much as possible, and turned her back to the door as he opened, desperately trying to think about anything else than her throbbing arousal.

“Yes?!” he snapped at whoever was at the door. “This better be important!”

A tiny, piping voice that certainly had to belong to a first year, said: “Sorry, sir, but there’s a Hufflepuff in our Common Room.”

Hermione almost giggled, as Severus snarled out a surprised: “ _What_?”

“And it won’t leave, sir!” the first year said plaintively.

He gave a great, exasperated sigh, saying: “It’s _he_ or _she,_ not _it_ , you little dunderhead. Humans are _not_ referred to as _it._ How did the Hufflepuff get in?”

“It – aaah, he – followed my friend, and there are no prefects inside, only us firsties and a couple of second years.”

“And how old is this Hufflepuff, Mr. Nott, and why are you unable to make him leave?”

Hermione blinked, realizing that this had to be a relative of Theodore Nott, maybe a cousin or even a younger brother. _Well, whoever his parents were, they hadn’t done a very good job in ascertaining their son’s respect for non-Slytherin humans_ , she rather thought with a grim smile. 

“Seventh grade, sir. He’s sitting in front of the fireplace, saying he’s doing a bet with some Gryffindors, and he has to stay there until dinner to win. Can you help us, sir? Can you remove the Hufflepuff?” 

“Gods,” Severus muttered, “students will be the death of me, yet.”

She half-turned, trying to fight her amusement from showing, and he told her: “This might take a while, Hermione. I need to sort this out with Pomona, too.”

“I know,” she said, giving him a small grin. “We’ll catch up later.”

“I can guarantee that,” he said, eyes burning at her, like he devoured her in a fiery caress. 

Slipping out with Severus and the young Slytherin, she felt disappointed for the abrupt stop to what would surely have been the hottest lovemaking she’d ever experienced. Still, she was slightly relieved. _Was she ready for him yet, or was this relationship too new to handle her insecurities? To give herself to a man with his background, his experiences, was daunting, to say the least. Her sexual experiences weren’t all that great to begin with. Actually, compared to the level of desire she had just experienced, she’d have to say her past experiences were rather horrid. Horrid, in the sense of being bland and boring._

Xxxx

There had been no time to get back to her yesterday, to his great irritation and disappointment, but now, he was pulling her into his arms just outside the Hogwarts gates.

He Side-Along Apparated her to the woods just outside the house where he had hidden his charge. The trees were bare, but small, green buds were showing, and the wind smelt of the sea at high tide. 

Hermione looked around, saying slowly: “Wherever in Britain this is, it isn’t Scotland.”

“You’re quite right,” he said, taking her hand to begin the short walk to the gates.

After Christmas, he had moved his charge and her guardian from the far, cold north to a large, comfortable cottage on the outskirts of a Muggle town in Cornwall. Formerly, the cottage had belonged to the late Augustus Rookwood. No Death Eaters should be stupid enough to go near it, knowing full well that Rookwood had been caught on his way here. Stopping outside the gates, he pricked his finger to let the wards recognize him.

“Blood wards,” Hermione stated, her voice neutral, but her stiff posture suggested she found it distasteful. Blood magic was considered a rather grey area, not quite dark, but not entirely good, either. _Depending which rituals one chose, of course. Augustus’ death had made a very nice added layer to the protection charm._

“Yes,” he said curtly. “It’s by far stronger than any other wards, though several other types of wards are in place, too.” 

“How are you going to get me in, then?”

“Give me your hand,” he said. Removing her glove, he pricked her finger until a small drop of blood welled up. Pressing the drop to his own finger, mingling the blood, he spoke the incantation, letting the wards wash over him, letting the magic ascertain that his blood wasn’t forcibly taken from him: “ _Introire.”_

The gates opened, and he led her inside the garden. The sound of a small child singing led them to the back of the garden, where Morgana sat on a swing, chanting happily to herself:

“ _Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,_

_Humpty Dumpty had a great fall._

_All the King’s horses and all the King’s men,_

_Couldn’t put Humpty together again._ ” 

He looked fondly at her, smiling at the girl, feeling his heart swell as he stood with his arm around his witch, watching the child he cared for.

Xxxx

The singing and the slow creaking of the swing unsettled her. _She couldn’t help thinking the song was somewhat sinister. Yes, it was a perfectly normal nursery rhyme, but Voldemort’s daughter singing about a great fall and the loyal men trying to put it all together again, seemed to resonate with the troubled times and the Death Eater resurgence. This child - she wasn’t merely a young girl, she was also a symbol. She could become a symbol of forgiveness and good, or she could be used as a symbol for revenge and unspeakable evil._

Shaking herself, she decisively rid herself of those thoughts. _Really, Hermione,_ she scoffed at herself, _she’s a toddler who doesn’t even know her own parents._

Forcing herself to really look at the girl, she saw a pretty child with dark hair, adorable ringlets peeking out underneath a hat. It wasn’t a surprise, knowing that the child’s parents both had been good looking, once. In fact, she looked angelic, with a dimple on her cheek and with large, dark eyes.

Severus had told her about the guardian, one Euphemia Rowle, wife to Death Eater Thorfinn Rowle. According to Severus, Mrs. Rowle had never supported the cause, and had been badly mistreated by her violent husband. Now, she was getting increasingly scared and depressed, due to Thorfinn’s escape from Azkaban. Still, Severus seemed to be very certain Euphemia Rowle would never return to her husband voluntarily.

Suddenly the singing stopped, and the child yelled: “Sev’us!” Thrashing her little legs madly, as she couldn’t get out of the secured swing by herself, she reached out her arms to him, and in a few strides of his long legs he was there, lifting her up on his arm, pressing his head into her little shoulder.

The tender hug made Hermione feel ashamed: _Severus obviously loved this child, and if she_ _wanted to love him too, she’d have to care for the child, no matter her family. No matter how Morgana’s mother had tortured Hermione, no matter how many her father had killed._

“Morgana,” Severus said carefully, I want you to meet a special someone. This is Hermione.”

The child cocked her head, peering curiously at her, before turning back to Severus. “You like her?”

“Yes,” he admitted, “very much. And she wanted to meet you.”

As the little girl turned back to gaze at her, Hermione felt almost trapped by the intensity of her dark eyes. _Like the Voldemort of Severus’ memory,_ she couldn’t help thinking. 

Then the child smiled, slowly, and said with a nod: “He’miny.” Her posture was regal, like she was a queen greeting a loyal subject. 

A small chill went through Hermione, but she stepped forward, and reached out her hand to the girl. The small hand was surprisingly warm, and then the child grinned at her, eyes warm and mischievous, and she said: “Magic, please?”

Surprised, Hermione grinned at her, and said “yes.” Conjuring her trusty flock of yellow canaries, she made them soar around the girl in a circle, and Morgana clapped her hands, giggling happily. 

Xxxx

Severus watched Hermione play with Morgana, still with that warm, fuzzy feeling in his heart. 

The little girl showed Hermione her favorite trick, where she magically glued her building blocks together to form an impossibly high tower. _For sure, the child was strong, very strong. He had seen first years at Hogwarts with less control over their magic._

To his great relief, it seemed that his witch and his Goddaughter had hit it off.

“I like you. Come back, please?” Morgana asked, looking at Hermione. She gave him a quick glance before answering, and he felt his heart swell when he heard her reply: “I’d love to, Morgana. It is fun playing with you.”

The child jumped into Hermione’s lap, small feet thudding down in force on Hermione’s thighs, making his witch emit a strangled sound very much like a pained “oooomph!”, but the hug made his heart melt.

Turning to Euphemia, he grew serious again, seeing her troubled expression. Her dark hair was greying at the temples, and she was much too thin, seeming frail and unhealthy. 

“You’re worried,” he said softly.

“Yes,” she said heavily. “You know, if _he_ finds us, all we’ve tried to do for Morgana will be for naught. Will you not consider to look after her yourself, Severus? Now you have a witch to help you out too, it’ll be easier for you.”

He slowly shook his head. “Not yet, Euphemia. This is all very new to us. But I’ll look into it, making preparations. I will make this into a safe-house, entrusting Hermione as our Secret-keeper. Rest assured, I’ll do anything in my power to protect you. You still wear that emergency Port-key, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she sighed, eyes dark with worry. Shuddering, she closed her eyes for a moment, before whispering: “I’m so afraid, Severus. If Thorfinn shows up, what if I panic and just leaves without Morgana? She’d be helpless. He’d _kill_ her on the spot, you know, never realizing who she really is. And I… I … I … can’t bear thinking about it.”

He took her hand, and said slowly: “I _promise_ you I’ll find him first. He won’t be allowed to hurt you, nor Morgana.”

A wavering smile lit up Euphemia’s face, but from the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione watching them, her insatiable curiosity very much alive in those golden-brown eyes.

Xxxx

“I’ve been contemplating taking guardianship myself,” he told her, as they arrived back at Hogwarts, walking towards the castle. “Not only because of safety reasons, but also because no one knew her parents like I did anymore. I can see both their faults and personality traits, but I believe I still can have an open mind to her.”

“I guessed as much,” she said, giving him a smile. _He was nervous, worried about her reaction_ , she rather thought. “It’s obvious that you care a great deal for her.”

“I do,” he said curtly, like he was embarrassed, but she squeezed his arm. 

“Severus, I… I think that’s wonderful. You’re a great man, did you know that?” 

Turning to her, eyes full of simmering, delicious black fire, he said silkily: “Will you join me tonight, to continue where we were interrupted yesterday?”

Her face fell, and she said: “Sorry, I’ve got rounds tonight. Maybe tomorrow night, after the Valentine feast?”

He looked disappointed, but then he said slowly: “Yes, concerning the feast…” His eyes were asking a question, and she felt her breath hitch, but her head nodded vigorously.

The Entrance Hall was empty, and their steps slowed. 

“Well,” she said nervously, “I better start my rounds.” 

“Yes,” he muttered, glancing around them, before he suddenly pulled out his wand. 

“ _Nihil animadverto!_ ” A shimmering haze rose around them, raising the charmed barrier of the Notice-Me-Not, and Severus whispered silkily at her: “But first, a kiss.” 

Hungrily, she met his mouth, stretching up on her toes to reach him, and he groaned, tongue plunging into her mouth. Herself, she was panting, almost feeling dizzy, her mouth opening to his, their lips mashing against each other, tongues stroking and licking. 

She held onto him for dear life, clutching the heavy woolen fabric of his cloak, pressing her body against him, feeling a searing warmth spreading in her belly. Through his clothing, she could feel his cock swell, hardening against her stomach, and she couldn’t help whimpering, feeling a _need_ surpassing anything she had ever felt for a man, a fervent, crazed wish for him to take her right there on the cold stone floor, to fill her up fast, hard and rough _right now, right here_. 

Severus broke free, eyes a little wild, before he laughed breathlessly. “Gods, witch, I have to stop, or else I won’t be able to. The charm may not hold if we…” 

Panting, her face so very flushed, she nodded. “The Entrance Hall may not be the best place to…” 

His hand came up, cupping her face, and she leaned in, nuzzling his palm. 

Hoarsely, though his eyes were soft, he whispered: “I can’t wait until tomorrow.” 

Swiping a kiss against the calloused skin in his palm, she breathed: “Me neither.” 

  
  


Xxxx 

The teachers were gathered in the staff room, waiting for the Headmistress to announce who would take who to the Valentine’s feast.

Severus stood beside Hermione, feeling the tension radiating from his little witch. _She was nervous, but so was he, to tell the truth._

Minerva and Rolanda entered, grinning like the drunk dogs they were, and Minerva started to spout off the more or less successful matchings. When she came to his own name, he cleared his throat rather loudly, and interrupted her: “I’m off the market, Minerva.”

The gasp from his fellow Professors was very satisfying, and he could see a slight smile forming on Minerva’s lips. He continued: “And so is Hermione.” When he took her hand, a faint blush rose in her cheeks, but she met his eyes with a happy smile.

Looking around him, he saw to his great surprise that most looked happy on their behalf, and the warmth he felt from his colleagues felt oddly touching. Filius was beaming, shouting “Congrats!” on the top of his lungs, and Hagrid was close to sobbing with a big grin on his face, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief the size of a towel. 

Septima’s face was almost split by the wide grin she wore, _winking_ slyly at them, Rolanda wolf-whistled, Pomona’s eyes were twinkling with happiness, and even Sybil smiled tremulously at them. Batsheda grinned at him, like she was impressed, mouthing a " _wow!"_

He noticed himself standing up straighter, pride coursing through him at seeing the happy face of his young, beautiful witch, and to his surprise, he felt that his colleagues’ approval actually _meant_ something to him. _Their relationship was accepted, even applauded._

Though, he noted that Aurora was looking worried, just as Marius Gewerryn. Those two frauds and idiots, Heron and Byror, were of course looking shocked and angry. _Severus didn’t have it in him to feel sorry for them_ , _though. He had won the witch, hadn’t he?_

“By gods,” Minerva almost roared, “I’ve never been happier in losing a bet! Rolanda, I’ll get you the fifty Galleons by tomorrow!” 

People looked at her, astounded at the enormous amount of money for a bet, and then Rolanda laughed with glee. “See? I told you, they’d be shagging like rabbits before summer!”

There was a short, shocked silence, and then everyone laughed raucously. Severus felt himself grow warm, but he comforted himself that he could be nowhere near the crimson spreading over the face of his lovely, little witch.

Xxxx

Later, they were dancing in the Great Hall, and he murmured into her ear: “Tonight, you’ll only dance with me. I’m not letting you go, I haven’t had a chance to hold you enough to sate my craving.”

“Mmm,” she crooned into his chest, resting her head by his heart. “I don’t want to dance with anyone else either. Do you think we could make it an early night?”

“Sure,” he said, smiling happily into her hair, “a very, very early night.”  
  
For once, he didn’t care if his students saw him smile. _Merlin, even the most dunderheaded student had to understand that he was the luckiest man on earth._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm evil, I know that. I promise, next chapter is full on smut. Really, it is. *grins*


	17. Electricity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His steps boomed in the empty Entrance Hall, but the sound of her dainty, nervous steps as she followed him down into the dungeons made him excited, harder than he had been for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, say no more...

**The Daily Prophet 14 February**

_Extra Evening Edition! Another Home-Delivery for Rita Skeeter!_

_Death Eater Rabastan Lestrange was found dead and naked on the bedroom floor of star-reporter Rita Skeeter’s home. Aurors says the body was clutching an illegal Port-key, shaped like a sex toy meant to represent female genitalia, and he was obviously killed cleanly with the Killing Curse._

_– I’m shaken, says Skeeter, really shaken. – Why am I the target of these sick pranks? I don’t need dead Death Eaters showing up on my doorstep. Please, whoever you are, please stop sending them to me. I promise I’ll cover any stories of deceased Death Eaters without having any close up and personal contact with their dead bodies._

* * *

Clutching Hermione’s hand, leading her out of the great Hall, he couldn’t wait to get away from all the frippery Filius had Conjured. The Hall was decorated with fluttering doves, singing cherubs and pink, lurid hearts, and he couldn’t help wondering if Filius had added even more during the night. _At least, he had taken the time to drag Severus away from Hermione, giving him a drunken speech on the power of love, while Minerva, nosy bint that she was, had inched closer, listening in with a wide grin on her face, looking like the proverbial cat who ate the canary._

Glancing at a group of Ravenclaw students huddled around the evening edition of the Prophet, he noted that Lucius had delivered as planned. _Rabastan had been a surprisingly easy target, and they had taken him down in his sleep this morning, before Lucius had set the Port-key for the delivery to six o’clock in the evening._

The students were whispering amongst themselves, probably theorizing, treating this as a puzzle as Ravenclaws were wont to do, but then they raised their heads as Hermione and he passed by. 

At first, the students merely goggled, but then two boys snickered. but their laughter died down as he scowled fiercely at them. 

His steps boomed in the empty Entrance Hall, but the sound of her dainty, nervous steps as she followed him down into the dungeons made him excited, harder than he had been for _years_. 

_He had a good grasp on his own preferences and limits, but he wanted to take it slow with her – if possible. There was no guarantee that she would like it a bit rough, the way he preferred, but he was not about to scare her. Still, the throbbing in his cock didn’t bode all that well for self-restraint. She was so beautiful, looking so innocent, so pretty, and the fire he knew her capable of made for a heady mix. Those silly, teenaged wizards and those dunderheaded male teachers had ogled his witch all night long, but now, Severus Snape was about to collect what he had wanted for so many months._

The corridors were quiet, all older students either at the ball and the younger in their Common Rooms. As usual, the castle was drafty and cold, making his black dress robes swirl around his feet as they walked in a brisk tempo into the dungeons. A few portraits along the way whispered as they saw him hand in hand with Hermione, laughing and sniggering among themselves.

They entered his quarters in silence, and as soon the doors were locked and warded behind them, he claimed her mouth, pressing her to him.

 _Oh, so sweet, tasting of cherries…_ He licked her lips, prodding them open with his tongue, her tongue darting out to meet his, lips moving, tongues locking into a daring embrace, and his hands clutched a fistful of frizzy hair, pulling her head towards him, her hands holding onto his shoulders as if it was a question of life and death.

His cock stood to attention, pressing into her stomach, but this time he didn’t care. _She knew he wanted her, so badly, so much, and this time, he was not about to let her go. Not even if all of Hufflepuff decided to invade his Common Room._

His little witch gasped into his mouth, as his hands ran over her sides and hips, and he bent down, hooking his fingers underneath the hem of her dress, lifting it up, moving quickly past her hips, caressing the soft skin on her stomach, hands trailing upwards to her breasts, pushing her brassiere up. _Finally, he had that handful he’d been dreaming of, those pert nipples hardening under his thumbs._ Slowly, she started rubbing her lower body to his, and he groaned at the delicious friction.

Xxxx

Her breath hitched, and he Divested her of the rest of her clothes, spinning her around, pressing her back against his chest.

“Mmmm,” he murmured against her throat, putting his arms around her waist, stroking upwards until he reached her chest. “Those tits have been in my dreams since you came back to Hogwarts.” He palmed her breasts greedily, gently rolling her hard nipples until he pinched them lightly. 

A gasp, almost a small scream, fell from her lips as the sensation travelled with lightning speed to her belly, making something clench hard, and he chuckled against her neck, burrowing his face into her hair, before licking a trail along her collarbone. Her hands reached up to tangle in his hair, stroking, pulling slightly, and he hummed slightly in appraisal.

“Such a lovely handful,” he groaned, pushing his erection against her arse, the fabric of his trousers grating on her soft skin. Gooseflesh erupted on her breasts, and she could feel his lips smiling against her skin. “Like that, do you witch? You’re thrilled to have your old teacher feeling up your tits?”

 _Morgana, it was silly, really, but his words made her even wetter, though she was nervous as well_. _This was it, she was about to have sex with Severus Snape. Daunting as it was, there was no turning back now, and she wanted so badly to get a good experience, something to erase the memories of the painful couplings she had experienced earlier. It would be different with Severus. At least, her body was telling her it was happy with his attention._

She rubbed her legs together, and he responded by snaking one hand to the apex of her thighs. Tickling her stomach and inner thighs, she whimpered again, saying: “Please, oh please...”

“Please what?” he said, moving his fingers in a slow circle around her mound, never touching her _there._

“Oh please, touch me!”

“Where, Hermione, where do you want me to touch you?” His voice was dark, molten chocolate in her ears, and she moaned again.

“Touch me…” she gasped, “please touch my … my pussy!” _Gods, she_ **_never_ ** _used such words, but she couldn’t find it in her to be embarrassed._

“With pleasure, darling,” he laughed silkily, and finally his hands touched her slit. He spread her lips out, and dipped a finger into her opening, growling wordlessly in appreciation of her wetness.

“You’re so slick for me, so wet,“ he panted in her ear, and she could only whisper a heated “yes” in return. He rubbed along her slit, finding her swollen nub, and circled it with his finger. His other hand came down her side, snaking in between her arse cheeks, finding her wet entrance, and he pushed one finger into her, curling it, making her writhe against him, enfolded in his arms, being cradled by his hands almost meeting at her core. 

He pulled his right hand away, raising his finger to his mouth. “Mmm, you taste so good,” he groaned, licking his finger with a slurping sound that only aroused her further, before he returned it to her quim. “You taste so sweet, and I will love to lick your cunt, but now…” he stopped himself, and pushed another finger inside her, making her squirm a little, both hands attacking her: One at her front, and one to her aching opening. 

“Is this filling you up, two fingers?” he said, voice amused, “then I’d better prepare you for what’s coming your way.” 

She shivered at the promise – _or threat, she didn’t quite know what to call it_ – and he continued to circle her clit with his thumb on one hand, while slowly pumping her opening with two fingers. 

Her climax was building, and she pushed against his fingers, and he rubbed her clit harder and harder, before he inserted a third finger into her quim. There was a brief stretch, bordering on painful, but she was too far along. 

“Severus,” she moaned brokenly, slamming herself down on his fingers, her walls taut around those long, nimble fingers, but the wave was cresting, and then a white light exploded in her belly, electric currents racing in her veins, and she was gasping, shaking and moaning, still rubbing herself against his fingers, her sex thrumming against his fingers, quivering in ecstasy.

Suddenly, it was all too much, she was too sensitive, and she tried to pull away from him.

He laughed, a chuckle she could only describe as a little smug, but also with a touch of wonder and surprise, like he couldn’t quite believe what had happened. Removing his fingers from her clit, he kept pumping those three fingers slowly. The aftershocks of her orgasm twitched through her, and he groaned.

“Are you ready,” he whispered, his free hand fumbling with his trousers. Shocked, she only now realized that he was fully clothed, while she had been naked for quite some time.

“I think so, I must be,” she whispered, and his belt buckle hit the stone floor with a clang, following a rustle from his pants. Something big and hot sprang free, slapping her arse, and she rubbed against it, hearing a rushed intake of breath from the tall, dark man behind her. 

He stepped out of his trousers, and pushed her forward until she was standing right in front of the cold stone wall.

“Brace yourself against the wall,” he ordered, and in his voice, she could hear the cracks in his control. 

She put her hands to the wall, jutting her arse out against him, while she thought: _From behind, oh gods, how many times have I fantasised about this? Him behind me, and now it’s becoming real?_ Feeling both excited and scared, a wave of fresh arousal rushed through her tired limbs, before her rational mind caught up. Shivering a little, her anticipation turned to dread. She bit her lip in worry, as those nagging thoughts that had always plagued her when having sex returned in full force, and tension settled in her body. 

_Could she really take something this big? Ron must have been significantly smaller, and that had hurt - badly. How would she cope being speared on Severus’ cock? She hadn’t seen him yet, but it was clear, the hot thing she had felt poking at her was overly large._

One warm hand pressed against her shoulder blades, making her lower her back and raise her arse and hips, and she could feel him move in between her thighs, his cock protruding in front of him. He used one hand to guide his cock to her quim, coating it liberally in her juices, rubbing it along her slit, and then he positioned himself at her entrance.

“Merlin, Hermione, this won’t take long,” he panted, as he started to push his thick, bulbous head into her sheath. She squirmed against him, making a sound of protest, _it was much too big, really, stretching her out painfully,_ but he steadied her with a hand on her hip, the other grabbing her shoulder, and continued pushing into her.

“You’re so tight,” he almost choked, his breath coming raggedly, but she almost wanted to scream in frustration. _Would she never learn to enjoy penetration? This hurt, just like it had with Ron!_

There was a burning sensation, like he was ripping her apart with his girth. Tears pooled in her eyes at both the pain and her anger with herself – _there must be something wrong with **her** , after all _ – and with a grunt, he had finally thrust all of his considerable, thick shaft inside her. 

She could literally feel all the ridges and veins along his length, expanding her to what she felt was to the point of breaking, his shaft making her walls quiver with the painful stretch.

He stopped moving, but panted heavily into her ear. “Does it hurt?” he asked breathlessly.

“Yes,” she whimpered morosely.

Keeping himself still, he put his arms around her, one hand moving towards her breasts, fondling her nipples, while the other found her nub again, rubbing gently against her still swollen slit, her nether lips now almost obscenely parted by the thick length lodged inside her.

Biting her lip against the pain – _she knew he would find his pleasure in taking her – she would just have to endure it, like with Ron –_ she tried to relax, not clenching all of her muscles in a futile attempt to expel his cock from her pussy.

“There, you just have to get used to my size, my sweet,” he murmured into her ear, caressing her gently. “We’ll go slow, and I swear, I’ll make you enjoy this even if it’s the last thing I do.”

She laughed, choked and bitterly, wanting nothing more than to rid herself of the burning pain caused by his penetration.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered, “and relax. Let me take care of this, let go. Trust me.”

And suddenly, he was there, slipping into her head too, and she saw the recent memory of herself, looking so flustered and aroused, as she wantonly rubbed her arse against him. She watched her spread legs, his finger parting her labia, rubbing her nub, and she felt a twinge of arousal. _Circe, had she ever felt anything like that before? No, sex had never been like that._

But what bowled her over, was seeing this from his side, in his memory. _The level of arousal in the memory, of fierce want, was all his._ The fact that she was the one who made **_him_ **feel like that made her belly clench again, making her clit tremble under his nimble fingers. A surge of want made her even slicker, and slowly, the burning pain in her walls subsided, like her body had finally adjusted to the intrusion. 

“Yes, that’s it,” he grunted, still not moving inside her, and he rubbed her clit with renewed vigour. The double layer of the reality and the memory made her breath quicken, and she remembered – _her body remembered –_ how good his fingers had felt when he pumped her quim. 

Slowly, she dared to move herself along his length, pulling a little off, pushing herself onto him again, and he groaned torturously behind her. A tickling sensation, like the friction was delicious, took hold of her, and she panted slightly.

His hips thrust gently against her bum, and she whimpered, this time with pleasure.

“You’re so tight,” he whispered, “no wonder it hurt you.”

“Feels better now,” she gasped, and pushed back at him. 

His breath hitched, and he slipped out of her mind, and she was all here to enjoy what happened now. _Severus Snape is taking me, fucking me from behind, and I like it,_ she thought triumphantly and defiantly at herself. _His big cock is buried inside me, and I can take him! I love it, his cock thrusting into my pussy, oh, those ridges rubbing my walls…_

“Merlin, Hermione, I need you to brace yourself,” his grunt interrupted her, “my control is slipping, I can hear your thoughts, and it’s such a turn on! I’m going to come…”

She grinned a little, putting more strength into her arms, leaning against the cold stone wall, and his hands landed on her hips, grabbing her hold of her, as he started thrusting against her in earnest.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he growled a command, and she nodded. _It didn’t – it was good, and again, she found the heady thrill of being dominated, being at his mercy, and she wanted him to touch her clit again._

Giving off a shaky laugh, his hand fell down between her thighs again, rubbing her, as his thrusts turned more rough and hard. _Yes, she felt that familiar build-up again,_ and she moaned loudly. 

To her own surprise, she heard herself groan: “Please fuck me harder, faster!” 

Severus obliged, hips now slamming his cock into her, his grip almost bruising her hips, his hand at her clit moving faster. “Your sweet, tight cunt, so good, I’m going to come _now_ ,” he grunted, and she could feel his cock swell up, harden even more, and then her orgasm took hold of her, and she screamed his name again: “Severus!” 

Her walls twitched around his impossibly big cock, clenching and spasming, and she could barely breathe, gasping for breath, her breasts now pushed against to the stone wall, almost chafing against the smooth stones, his thrusts driving her into the wall, making lights flicker behind her eyes, like there was a fierce storm inside her, thunder rolling through her, lightning flashing and her blood pumping with the strength of a gale. 

“Aah, Hermione!” he roared back, pounding harshly into her, grunting, and she felt the hot spurts of his seed, as his cock jerked inside her. 

It felt like the crest lasted a long time, before they both came down. 

He pulled her against him, hands around her waist, and they stood still for a while, until his now limp cock slipped out of her. A rush of liquid came down, coating her thighs, and she laid her head back against his chest, looking up at him with a smile, feeling so relieved, so gloriously happy. 

His face was, for a change, flushed, and his eyes were closed. _He looked blissful_ , she thought.

“Quite right,” he murmured, “ _blissful.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the plot in the next chapter, but I promise: There is much more smut to come. *grins*
> 
> However, from now on, the material is all new, because this was the last chapter previously published on FFnet.


	18. Chain Reactions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I never cared for the cause,” Lucius said brightly, admiring his work. “I just enjoy the game. As do you, my friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First posting of a brand new chapter for this story in two years. Wow, that feels good!  
> :-) 
> 
> Mention of past relations between Severus and Lucius.

**The Daily Prophet 15 February 2000**

_Severus Snape and Hermione Granger spotted as a couple! Students at Hogwarts have tipped the Prophet that the two war heroes got it going at the Hogwarts Valentine feast._

_\- We’ve been wondering about these two previously, a Hogwarts sixth year informs us. There have been rumours of the two of them having an affair, but now, it seems pretty obvious that they’re an item. Lots of students are going to be heartbroken, because the two of them do have lots and lots of admirers._

* * *

“We’ll get you nice and clean,” he murmured, his hands moving over every inch of her body, slicking her with soap.

Goosebumps formed on her skin, and he just loved seeing her response to his touch. _It had been touch and go there for a while earlier, her obvious bad experiences stopping her from enjoying herself, but he had gotten her over the edge. He felt no small amount of pride in having overcome that problem, while also knowing that his size hadn’t made it easy for her._

Speaking of size, his cock was very happy with the naked witch succumbing to him in the shower too, and he rinsed the soap off her, before settling on his knees. Pushing her, making her lean back on the wall, he stroked her thighs, making her part her legs, before diving in, his tongue meeting her nub.

She almost whined: “Severus!” her fingers clutching his hair. The water from the shower pounded down on his head and shoulders, slicking his hair to his head, but he was lost in the smell and taste of her, that little bud hardening under his mouth.

Gasping, her legs trembled, and he steadied her with a firm grip on her hips. He took a small break, murmuring against her pussy: “You taste so good. I’m going to make you come until you see stars and you’re going to beg me for more. Do you hear me, witch? You will come with my tongue in your hole, and then I’ll fuck you senseless.”

“Yes, yes,” she gasped, and he chuckled, parting her pussy lips, blowing his breath right at her exposed slit, before descending on her nub again. She writhed, but he held her still, growling into her cunt: “You stay still until I say otherwise. You are mine. Say it, witch, say it!”

She moaned again, and he sucked her clit into his mouth, teasing it with the tip of his tongue.

Her breath became faster, heaving, and she muttered: “Yes, Severus, I’m yours, all of me, I belong to you, please…”

Grinning, he let his fingers travel to her opening, trusting two fingers inside her wet hole, pumping her slowly, keeping up his attention to her clit, massaging her with his tongue. Panting, she almost arched off her toes, before grinding on his face, her moans rising to a shout: “Severus, I’m coming, oh gods, Severus!”

The spasming of her walls went on, his cock throbbing hard in time with her trembling, and he kept up his movement, until she winced, trying to withdraw.

Rising up quickly, he lifted her off the floor. She got the gist, wrapping her legs around his hips, and he entered her slowly, watching for any signs of discomfort.

She made a small grimace, but opened her eyes, panting: “It’s all right, the size… You’re stretching me so much, but it doesn’t hurt. Not much. I know you won’t hurt me. I trust you, Severus.”

Grunting, he pushed as much as he could possibly fit into her, and his hips started to move rhythmically. “Good girl,” he muttered, “taking my cock like that. Let me take care of you.” His grip on her hips was almost bruising, and he wanted nothing more than letting go and pounding her harder.

Like she had read his mind, she whispered: “You can move faster, take me a little harder.”

Obliging her, he relished the way her tight sheath massaged his cock, squeezing him. Feeling his orgasm build, he experimentally took her harder, and her gasp of pleased surprise showed that it was fine. 

“Mine,” he growled, feeling a primordial need to fill her with his seed, _mark_ her as _his_ , laying claim to his witch. Hips mindlessly slamming against her thighs, he felt the familiar feeling of hot bliss shoot down his spine, his balls lift and contract, and then fireworks exploded behind his eyes, and he was grunting, gasping, shooting out into her wet, tight cunt.

Xxxx

Later, she was resting her head against his shoulder as they ate in front of his fireplace. She felt secure, safe, and very much relaxed. She almost chuckled at the thought of how shocked her eleven year old self would have been, had she known that nine years later, Professor Snape had thoroughly pleasured her, fucking her into a trembling mess.

“What?” he asked lazily, spoon feeding her the late-night meal they had ordered from the kitchens, a delicious French onion soup, the melted gruyère on top of the soaked bread making it a hearty meal. 

_Somehow, she didn’t think he’d think it all that funny if she told him. The reminder that he had been her teacher until a few years ago wasn’t something she thought he’d see as a turn-on, and his age seemed to be a sore point._

“Just happy,” she murmured instead, “finally ending up in bed with you.”

“I haven’t even had you in my bed, yet, little witch,” he replied, arching an eyebrow at her.

She nuzzled his shoulder, murmuring: “I have no doubt you’ll do so, very soon.”

He petted her hair, before saying slowly: “I’m not a teenager, you know. I can’t go again an unlimited number of times. “

Incredulous, she raised her head to look him in the eyes: “I’m happy, not complaining after two mind blowing rounds. Besides, you’re still awake, aren’t you? That’s an added bonus I’ve never experienced before.”

Shaking his head, he murmured wryly: “Seems like your previous experiences haven't exactly raised the bar for me.”

“You can say that again,” she yawned. 

“Tired?” his eyes were warm as they looked at her, warmer than she ever had imagined those black eyes could be, and it felt like a starburst in her heart, making her grin mindlessly. 

“I can, however, carry you off to bed,” he said, smiling back at her. “We sleep, then we’ll … _enjoy_ … ourselves in the morning. And, we prepare for any rumours in the _Prophet_ , perhaps even our very own Skeeter article. Then, there’ll be the usual deluge of letters.”

She snorted. “I bet more than half will be crying out against me, the power hungry slut of the Golden Trio, tricking the renowned, poor war hero into my bed to get some of his glory rubbing off on my unmentionable parts.”

Chuckling, he shook his head. “No, you’ve got it all wrong. The dangerous, dark Death Eater has gotten his claws in the Golden Girl, sinking his fangs into the young witch to start an obviously forced, abusive relationship. Most likely, I will want to keep you barefooted and chained in my dungeon.”

“What?” she said, laughingly. “People don't believe things like that about you. They love you!”

“Wait and see,” he said darkly. But then he bent down, picking her up carefully, even tenderly, and carried her off to bed. 

Xxxx

Minerva lowered herself down in her chair slowly and carefully, looking out on the Great Hall. Her head had just cleared after downing a solid dose of Hangover Potion, and she wondered _why_ she had decided on a regular school day after the Valentine feast. _Really, Minerva, it wouldn’t hurt anyone if you had given them half a day off. But it was too late to do so now._

Several of her teachers looked as tired and scruffy as she felt herself to be, and no one was talking very much. The older students were yawning, and a forgotten cherub blew listlessly on his trumpet in a corner, the charm wearing off. 

Grumbling into her tea, she drank deeply. Then there was a loud bang, and she almost spilled her entire cup in her lap. Looking up, she wasn’t surprised. _Severus, of course, always with the dramatics._ He had crashed the main door open, to make everyone look – _again_ – and he entered with Hermione on his arm.

Her lips twitched a little by seeing his usual scowl, daring anyone to cross him. The students were goggling at them, some whispering, some older students snickering, while all the younger students who hadn’t attended the dance looked like they'd fallen off the moon, not quite believing their eyes. 

_Though, knowing Severus so well as she did, she could see it was all a ploy. He was happy, there was no doubt in her mind. And young Hermione was obviously very much in love, and very happy, from the blush on her face and the loving glances she stole at the tall, dark wizard at her side._

Minerva sighed, meeting Rolanda’ eyes with a suppressed grin. The flying instructor though, was wiggling her eyebrows, before leaning over: “They finally did it. Looks like Severus worked his rumoured magic on her. I haven’t seen anyone this happy for a shag in years!”

She barked a short laugh, nodding to Rolanda. “Good for them. They deserve it, both of them.”

Xxxx 

In the evening, she brought him into _her_ rooms _._ She wanted to show him her quarters, not that she would have minded waking up in his bed for new sessions of heated lovemaking.

He stopped abruptly inside her room, saying disdainfully: “This is … very _Gryffindor._ More so than I imagined.” 

“Yes,” she shrugged. “I was a Gryffindor, why are you surprised?”

“Because I asked the castle to make you feel at home. I had no idea it would translate the order into a replica of … Gryffindor tower.”

“You did my quarters?” she said, incredulous.

“The castle did,” he corrected. “I merely ordered it.”

Hermione couldn’t help beaming at him. “Anyway, thanks. I like my quarters. I appreciate you telling the castle to make me feel welcome and at home.”

“Oh, well,” he growled, before he stopped, peering at her, suspiciously: “You didn’t say anything about what I just revealed to you. Hermione, did you _know_ I control the castle?”

Giving him a small smile, she said: “Yes. I overheard you and Minerva, but I had noticed something was off with Minerva’s control before that. To be frank, it didn’t surprise me.”

“You little minx, what else do you know?” he breathed, moving into her.

Shrewdly, she glanced at him, before saying offhandedly: “You’re one who’s been offing them, aren’t you?”

He looked at her with a startled expression, before shaking his head ruefully. “I should have known you’d put two and two together. If anyone would, it would be you. What tipped you off?”

Hermione felt her lips tug into a smile. “I heard what you said to Euphemia, and I saw you returning to Hogwarts with that limp before Christmas. It was obvious you’d been in a fight. And the one who could take out those Death Eaters had to be someone _more_ powerful than them. There aren’t that many, are there, except for you?”

He straightened a little, almost imperceptibly. _Maybe unconsciously,_ she thought, _like he felt proud by her calling him powerful. Strange, that someone seemingly so confident and self-sufficient as Severus Snape would enjoy praise. It was reassuring, in a way, to know that he was nothing but a man. Somehow, it made her feel more as his equal, smoothing out the well-known demarcation lines of age, experience, and their relation as Professor and former student._

Shaking his head, he said ruefully: “I thought… I mean, this is beside the law. This is _murder_. I would think you’d see this as…” 

Hermione snorted. _Her lover didn’t know all there was to know about her yet, and she was nothing if not … practical. Problems **should** be solved. _

With a small glint in her eyes, she said: “Please. I know what these men are capable of. Besides, we would have lost the war if we followed orders and abided by the law. You are doing the wizarding world a service, getting rid of these people. The Ministry obviously won’t, so why not you? Someone has to take care of public safety, protecting the population!” 

He gave her a wry smile. “You shock me, sometimes,” he muttered, “I … Well, suffice to say, I’m not done yet.” 

Pursing her lips, she said slowly: “On the other hand… this is dangerous. I’m going to be worried about you. Maybe I could join you, fighting?” 

“No!” His answer was quick, clipped, and his face fell into his customary glower. Severus folded his arms over his chest, black eyes giving the unrelenting stare that had scared students into submission for years. “I’m not going to risk you doing…” 

“Risk me? What about you? Two are better than one, you know!” She gave him a glare of her own. _Really, as if she’d let him fight those battles on his own. Where had Harry been, if it weren’t for her and Ron? Severus would soon find himself getting used to receiving help!_

“I started this. I’m going to finish it,” he said with a finality, like he thought this case was closed. “I would only worry for your safety, and these fights… they’re vicious enough. If I’m going to have to protect you, then I’d be distracted…” 

“What?” she said, voice low and dangerous. “You don’t think I’m qualified to fight? Am I not strong enough to help you do this? You don’t have to protect me. I may not be your equal in magical strength, but I can hold my own in a Death Eater fight!” 

His face infuriatingly blank, she got the impression that he was assessing her. “You can hold your own in a fight where they aren’t desperate,” he said finally, “but it’s not enough. During the war, you fought them in a situation where they had every opportunity to escape, if they so wished. When I show up, they know it’s life or death. They are trapped, like a cornered animal, and believe me, you wouldn’t want to come between the dark curses two seasoned Inner Circle Death Eaters might trade. No, Hermione, I want to protect you, and I do that the best by keeping you away.” 

“I’m not a fragile little thing needing protection!” she bristled. _On the inside, though, her anger was warring with a strange sense of contentment. Severus wanted to protect her… to keep her safe. That felt good, almost arousing, in a way. Because… Still, it was preposterous, she was a war heroine, not some silly little thing needing a saviour!_

“I know,” he said, “but there are dangers - and then there are _dangers_.” 

The two of them stood still, glaring at each other, but then his lips tugged into a small, smug smirk. “This is also why you - unbelievable as it seems - like _me_ , isn’t it?” 

“What?” she said, feeling flustered. _Dear Merlin… Had he read her mind?_

Severus stepped closer, putting his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. “You, my witch,” he murmured into her hair, hands stroking her back, lowering to the small of her back, “You want someone who actually takes care of _you_. You’ve been taking care of those idiot friends of yours for years. Finally, it’s your turn. I’ll take care of you and protect you.” 

_He was right, and oh so very wrong. Companionship, friendship and loyalty dictated that she did her utmost to help her loved ones, no matter the danger, but at the same time his protection felt so good. She had been in danger all her years since she started Hogwarts, but she’d never be more safe than in Severus Snape’s arms._

Conflicted, she felt his hands creeping down to cup her arse, his touch so electrifying, making her wet and wanting. Shifting her feet, she spread her legs slightly, making room for his hand circling her buttocks, pushing in between her legs. _Oh Merlin, her mind couldn’t resolve this, not now, not with his hands on her…_

With a moan, she clutched his arms, feeling his wiry muscles flex underneath the thick woolen frock coat. 

Xxxx

Apart from working hours, they spent the week in bed. Apologetically, he had sent her away on Thursday evening, saying he was behind on his marking, even though he had tried to keep up by setting tasks in the lesson that would allow him to do some of the marking in class. 

She had nodded, knowing that she was behind her revised reading schedule too, but then again due to her excessive, solitary reading in January, she was still ahead of her original plan. 

On Friday, they were to visit Morgana again. 

“Brew?” the child said, proffering up her toy pewter cauldron. 

“Sure,” she laughed, asking the child: “Do you and Severus brew a lot together?” 

“Yes,” the child beamed. “I make tea. Look!” 

The little girl ran off, filling the cauldron with cold water, before returning, plopping the cauldron down, splashing droplets on the stone floor of the cottage. 

“Morgana,” Euphemia Rowle sighed, “don’t splash water on the floor, will you?” But still, she Vanished the spilling with an indulgent smile, her pale ash wand waving in a smooth arch over the wet floor. 

“Now watch,” Severus said softly to Hermione, and her eyes turned back to the child. 

Morgana narrowed her eyes, staring at the cauldron for quite some time. To her surprise, Hermione could feel the child’s magic, a surprisingly strong surge, and suddenly, heated tendrils curled from the cauldron. The water was at a boil. 

Blinking in surprise, Hermione exclaimed: “That’s very good, Morgana! You really can make tea.” 

“Yes!” the child crowed, before spooning tea leaves into the cauldron. “Three, right, Sev’rus?” 

“Yes,” he nodded, “that will be perfect.” 

“Wandless magic…” Hermione mused, looking at the small child. “That’s…” 

“I know,” Euphemia said with no small amount of pride. “She’s so strong, stronger than many children starting Hogwarts.” 

“And with far better wandless control,” Severus supplied, looking equally proud. 

“She’s going to be as strong as…” Hermione’s voice faltered, because the only one she could compare the child to, would be the girl’s father. _Or perhaps Dumbledore._

Severus shot her a quick glance, pulling her into the crook of his arm, while Morgana proudly poured them real tea in her play tea set. 

“I know,” he said softly. “We can’t afford to fail with this child. We really, really can’t.” 

Xxxx 

Harry had requested a meeting with her on Saturday, sending her a clipping from the Prophet’s gossip column. Over a picture of her and Severus, he had merely written: “WE NEED TO TALK!” in a large, messy scrawl. There was, of course, two separate pictures. As far as she knew, there wasn’t a single picture in existence showing both of them. Severus looked handsome as always in his, but true to form, the Prophet had used an old, awful picture of her from her fourth grade, exaggerating their age difference into something even worse. 

She Floo’ed into the Three Broomsticks, leaving Severus in Minerva’s office. He had claimed to have some “unfinished business” with the Headmistress. 

As she disappeared into the green fire after her shout “The three Broomsticks,” she heard Minerva saying tauntingly: “”Come around, have you, Severus? I knew you would!” 

Emerging in the pub, dusting her coat for specks of ashes, she saw to her surprise both Harry and Ginny waiting for her at a table. The large room was packed as usual on a Saturday, the fireplace roaring and people were laughing and chatting. 

Walking slowly towards them, not quite sure what to expect, she was almost jumped by Ginny, a flying mass of red hair streaking through the air. 

“Hermione!” Ginny squealed, hugging her hard. “I’ve missed you!” 

“Oh, I’ve missed you too,” she said, tearing up, hugging her friend back. 

“I just couldn’t leave this to Harry,” Ginny said, smiling through tears. “I mean, Professor Snape? _For real_?” 

“Yeah, about that,” Harry said, “Professor _Snape_ , Hermione? Are you sure? Is this the same man who taunted us through school?”

Giving him an exasperated glance, she replied: “Yes, Harry, this is the same war hero that saved us, protected us and took how many blows for the Order.” 

“The man who loved my mother?” His eyes were earnest, green pools of worry. 

“That man too.” She swallowed a lump in her throat. _No, she wasn’t about to go all insecure because her lover had been a part of the most well known, one-sided love affair in Wizarding Britain._

“Does he ... does he ... does he love _you_ , Hermione?” Harry said, his voice almost breaking. 

“Yes, I think so,” she whispered.

Harry sighed, shaking his head, and said softly: “If this is what you want, Hermione, then I’ve got your back. No matter what people say.” Glancing away for a moment, he continued even more softly: “No matter _who_ says what.” 

“Oh shut it with the gloominess, Harry,” Ginny said impatiently. “Hermione has landed the most attractive bachelor in this country, and you should be excited! Look at her, she positively radiates!” 

Lowering her voice, she murmured: “Is it true, what they say of him? I mean, in bed...!” 

“Ginny!” Hermione gasped, laughing as she shook her head. “No kiss and tell, absolutely not!” 

“But you are happy, aren’t you? Look at her eyes shining, Harry, and _Merlin_ , are those love bites on your neck?!” 

“They would be,” she said, grinning at the two of them. “Really, Harry… I’m happy. He makes me happy. Trust me, he’s a good man.” 

Xxxx

“You’re going to stay here, as Headmaster,” Minerva said knowingly, smirking at her employee. 

“I am,” he said curtly. 

“You couldn’t even imagine being away from her, could you?” She knew her smug grin was annoying, but she couldn’t seem to care. _Hogwarts was in good hands for the next fifty years or more._

“No,” he said, eyes dark and hooded. “During times like this, I’m loath to let her out of my sight. I’ll stay on, at least until she’s finished her Mastery.” 

Sobering, Minerva nodded. “I can see that,” she said softly. “They’d like nothing better than to get hold of her, or what? Especially now. Your relationship would be an added bonus. In one fell strike, they’d get to her and you at the same time.” 

“Exactly,” he said. “She’s in so much danger, and I …” 

Minerva interrupted: “I know you’re doing what you can to minimize the threat, Severus. Public awareness is a good thing, seeing as the Ministry denies it all. But really, was it necessary to be so … excessive?” 

He didn’t seem to be surprised that she had seen through him, revealing his vigilante activities. Then he suddenly grinned, reminding her of the rather … _darkly_... mischievous school boy he once had been, creating the most surprising and wicked spells, using them much too freely on his classmates. 

“Oh, you know, I like to test spells. Some of these, I haven’t had cause to ever try in combat before.” 

There was a brief silence, constant mostly of Minerva shaking her head, shifting her aching foot to the stool in front of her, using her hands to move the limp, damned thing, her leg acting up again. _Gods, she missed Poppy, for more than this, though, she amended quickly to herself.. Poor woman, still sequestered in St. Mungos, dealing with the traumatic horrors of her abduction._

Deliberately shaking it off - _forcing herself to not think about the heartbreaking, pitiful sight when she last visited Poppy_ \- she stated: “You know, the governors will have to be informed of your relationship with Hermione, but it shouldn’t be a problem.” 

“It _really_ shouldn’t,” he said scathingly, before he muttered: “And if it is, I have enough dirt on them to…” 

Minerva grinned again. _Such a Slytherin. Most people thought Severus got by with his impressive glower, but he was first and foremost a spy. The man gathered - and remembered - intelligence like a pro. Which, she guessed, he was._

“Have a whisky, Severus,” she said mildly. “It’s on me, to celebrate your new tenure. I daresay it’ll be happier than the last.” 

_The thing was, he was also unfailingly polite. He couldn’t refuse such a toast, and that gave her the opportunity to force him to taste her brother’s new batch._

Xxxx

Lucius wandered aimlessly around in the small flat, fluffing the brown pillows on the sofa, righting a picture on the wall, his penchant for decoration coming through, even in such a situation. 

Severus preferred to stay still, slouching up against the doorframe - or at least, as much as someone like him could slouch. No matter what they did, he knew they were both listening intently for sounds of anyone approaching, though realistically speaking, Armand Nott wouldn’t be home for at least an hour. 

“What do the others say?” 

Lucius stopped his restless pacing, instead peering at Severus. “Oh, you know, they’ll happily watch it play out, before slapping the winner on his back.” 

Severus snorted. “No surprise there,” he retorted dryly. 

“On the other hand,” Lucius said, one hand combing through his silvery mane - _as if there ever, **ever!** was a snarl or tangle in his hair - _“they’re not too happy with the new regime. They are cheering you on, my friend. A return to the good old days, you know, being led by someone competent.” Lucius cocked his head, looking at Severus with a grin. “And sane. Not to forget sane. They will appreciate that.” 

“As do we all,” Severus said, rolling his eyes. On the inside, a small tingle of pleasure sparked. _His brethren would welcome him back, he was sure. He would have the full power of the Death Eaters - the true Inner Circle, not all those nitwitted upstarts - at his command, and then…_

Lucius, true to form, interrupted his musings. “So, you and the Granger girl, huh? I know you don’t care for blood issues, but still… Your grandfather would have…”

“I never knew the man,” he said bitingly. “As you very well know, he had absolutely no interest in what I did or didn’t do.” 

“Still…” Lucius muttered, shaking his head. “People might feel strongly about family issues. Who knows what he might have done... “

He paced some more, before stopping again, dusting a few imaginary specks from the embroidered lapels of his silvery frock coat. 

Cocking his eyebrows, he said: “Draco, you know, we’re negotiating with the Blanco family in Madrid.They’re as pure as they get, and Draco is absolutely smitten with their youngest daughter. I, for one, am relieved that my grandchildren will be Pure-bloods.” 

Severus almost rolled his eyes. “The fact that you feel ready to be a grandfather, doesn’t mean I’m ready for it,” he bit him off. 

“Ah, you’re gearing up to getting your own heirs, of course. Oh, you have so many fulfilling experiences ahead of you. The crying, food thrown around, the nights when your baby doesn’t sleep…” Lucius’ smirk was wicked at the best. 

Exasperated, he replied: “Look, Lucius, we’ve barely just begun this relationship. There’s no need to talk about heirs.” 

“I never pegged her for liking it rough though,” Lucius continued, grinning as he prodded at Severus. “She seems like a little prude. So goody two-shoes.”

“How do you know she likes it rough?” he barked, glaring at Lucius. _Had the little devil tried Legilimency on his witch? Whenever would he have the chance to… Or…_

Lucius, however, just grinned. “Please, come on. I know you. You’re happy, and that means… Well, I know _you_ , Severus. We’ve shared a witch or two, haven’t we?” 

The sidelong, sly glance told Severus of Lucius’ true intentions, and he barked: “No sharing! Absolutely not!” 

“Oh well, you can’t blame a man for asking nicely,” Lucius shrugged, unconcerned with Severus’ anger. 

“You shut up about all this when you meet her,” he said threateningly, taking a step towards his friend. 

The other man stood his ground. “So, you will bring her to meet us then? As you very well know, Narcissa won’t stomach it unless you’re married, or at least betrothed.” The shrug he gave was slightly apologetic, making Severus sigh. 

Deciding to be truthful, he told him: “If I’m ever going to marry, it will be her.” 

“Ah, it’s serious then.” Lucius paused, before grinning: “I could tell her a tale or two, still…”

Severus swooped in, tugging the man’s long blonde hair, saying with an equal playfulness: “You keep your mouth shut, or else I’ll let it slip to Narcissa how much you enjoyed playing the naughty girl with me around the time Draco was born. I’m _sure_ you remember.” 

Lucius blushed a little, his blue eyes darkening, and slowly, like his mouth was dry, he swallowed. 

Hastily, Severus let go of his hair, shaking his own head. “But not anymore. Not now. Sorry I brought it up.” _Merlin, he knew that Lucius would like a repeat performance, had known for years, really, but it wasn’t possible. Not anymore. Not after his witch._

“Nothing like a little deal of mutual destruction between friends,” Lucius said lightly, arching his eyebrow. 

They waited in silence for almost ten minutes, before Armand Nott came home to his temporary flat. 

Both wizards Disillusioned themselves, ready in combat stance with Shields up, and old Nott limped in, grumbling to himself about gout and rainy weather. 

Adrenaline pumping, Severus rescinded his Glamour, making Nott blink, and there was a small rustle as Lucius stepped forward, still Disillusioned. 

Severus approved the move - _the sounds without a visual was a good scare tactic_ \- but for himself, he merely said slowly: “Good evening, Mr. Nott.” 

“Severus… what a surprise...” his old comrade muttered, looking shiftily around, before trying to Apparate out. The crack of Apparition died mid-sound, and Nott flinched, like he was punched in the gut. _From experience, Severus knew that trying to Apparate through Apparition wards was a very uncomfortable feeling._

“You’ve been up to things lately, so naturally, I felt it would be prudent to pay a visit to you,” he drawled, not taking his eye off the old man in front of him. With a blinding flash, Nott threw an _Expulso_ at him, and Severus almost reeled by the impact on his Shield. 

In return, he lobbed a _Bombarda_ , aiming for the chair right behind him, making splinters fly, lodging into the back of Nott’s knees, deftly slitting the tendons. 

“Ooouf!” the old man yelled, buckling, sinking to his knees, and Lucius finally joined the fray, overpowering him brutally with a strong _Incarcerous_ , before revealing himself.

“You!” Nott grunted, glaring at both of them, before shaking his head. “Who would have known both of you were behind all this? I’m not surprised at _him_ , but I would have thought _you,_ Lucius, would have the sense to stay out of this. You have no respect for your elders, you never had! You and your lot!” 

Twisting his body, like he was foolish enough to believe he’d be able to escape Lucius’ magical binding, he hissed at Severus: “I know you’re going to kill me and pack me up to that reporter, you sick dirty pig, but let me tell you this: The Mudblood that you’re fucking, she’d going to get it. Every single one of our brethren will fuck her until she bleeds out, as soon as we get to her. We’ve got people inside Hogwarts, now. She’s going to pay a visit to the Death Eaters very soon!” 

There was a surge of red light behind Severus’ eyes, a rushing noise in his ears, but the room seemed to flash in green. Nott tumbled forward, nose hitting the carpet hard. 

Lucius looked almost insulted. “That was too quick. You owe me, Severus, there was no fun in this. But… a wordless _Avada_?” He whistled slowly. “Haven’t seen that thrown around since the Dark Lord.” 

“I... “ Severus said, rage still coursing in him, staring down at Nott’s lifeless body. 

Walking slowly towards him, Lucius said, voice concerned and low: “Mind his words, Severus. It might be just spite, but do not take that risk. Keep her safe, if you love her so much.” 

“Yes, I…” Severus swallowed, trying to curb his anger, forcing it down behind his Occlumency shield. 

Raising his head, he looked straight at Lucius. “Thank you,” he said, knowing that the man actually cared. 

Scrubbing his face with a hand, he tried to focus on the task ahead. “Why don’t you make up something for the Skeeter present?” he suggested, and the other man brightened, tapping his lips as he turned to look at the body. 

“I enjoyed the Muggle delivery,” Lucius replied. “Once, when I was in Muggle London…” 

“You take trips to Muggle London?” Severus’ voice was both scornful and incredulous. 

“I do indeed take trips to Muggle London, buying lingerie for Narcissa, you see,” the man continued with a cheeky grin, “and I saw a man making those… balloon animals for Muggle children. How about we stuff his body parts into balloons, Charm them as invisible to Muggles, and order a delivery to Skeeter’s door? That would be fun.” 

“Balloons?” Severus said, cocking his head. “That’s… ridiculous.” 

“My point exactly. Serves Nott well for being such a stuffy prude,” Lucius muttered, and Severus knew the man would be remembering some slight or the other. _Lucius had a very long memory._

“Just like the old times,” Lucius grinned, cutting off Nott’s hands, his silver frock coat becoming spattered with blood as he Conjured the balloons around the sawed-off limbs, cocking his head to see if they were what he had envisioned. 

“Yes, but for a better cause,” Severus replied. 

“I never cared for the cause,” Lucius said brightly, admiring his work. “I just enjoy the game. As do you, my friend.” 

Xxxx

“You’ll move in with me,” he told her. _Actually, he issued a command, just like he would do in his classroom. He wouldn’t tolerate no for an answer, because her safety was much too important._

Hermione’s eyebrows rose. Looking suddenly very young and unsure, she mumbled: “Well, eventually, maybe, but isn’t this a little premature…?” 

“Not at all,” he said, enfolding her in his arms, kissing her hair. _She was so warm, so alive, feeling so good against him after the brutal killing and dispatchment of his former comrade._

“It’s for your own safety. I heard… something... tonight, and I’m worried. Very worried. If you consent, I wish to perform a few rituals with you, to ensure your safety. Nothing - _no one_ \- will harm you on my watch.” 

“Rituals? Moving in with you? What did you hear?” Her eyes were clear as she looked up at him, and his heart went out to her, knowing that she had seen too much in her life to panic over this. _She was a rational girl, and he knew she would be swayed by his arguments. Besides, he would like nothing better than to have her beside him in bed each night. And mornings. And …_

With a sigh, he laid out the reasoning for her, his voice flat and unemotional. “They have someone at Hogwarts. Someone who’ll try to capture you, bringing you to the Death Eaters.” 

Hermione scoffed, but gave him a small smile. “You know, I’m hardly helpless.” 

“You don’t know who this is,” he said gruffly. “It might be someone strong, someone who knows how to be stealthy. You, as anyone, can fall prey to a curse in a deserted corridor, being carted out of Hogwarts before you regain your senses. I repeat: _You don’t know who this is_. It might even be someone you trust.” 


	19. Danger Building

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And that’s exactly why I should go with you,” she crowed, knowing that she had scored a major logical point in their argument. “To ensure that you don’t let yourself be killed by your own, stupid pride.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've upped the chapter count by one. No excuses, because apparently I can't count. It's sitting right there on google docs with twenty-two chapters, and I've just ... never noticed that, lol.

**The Daily Prophet, 1 March 2000.**

_In the spotlight: Ron Weasley turns twenty today! The playboy, famous for his numerous escapades, has been well and truly caught. He and Jenna Shacklebolt, the Playwizard model, announced their betrothal yesterday. They claim to have fallen helplessly in love. However, speculations are rife. Rumour has it that Kingsley Shacklebolt, who is also Ron Weasley’s boss, didn’t take kindly to the fact that the young wizard had impregnated his niece without a ring on her finger. There are whispers of him striking a deal with the Weasleys, invoking the old Pure-blood tradition of an arranged marriage in lieu of a duel for the Playwizard model’s honour. Will there be even more juicy scandals to come from the young war hero?_

* * *

Their morning coffee had proved to taste even better in bed. She had taken Severus’ advice, moving in with him, because she couldn’t refuse in the light of those very real concerns for her safety. Over a couple of nights, they had performed a spell that let him pinpoint her position with a frightful accuracy, another spell that let them both - _she had insisted_ \- send a message of S.O.S., plus spells that created a connection, letting them feel the others’ stronger emotions like fear, anger or wild joy. 

She had chuckled at that, telling him: “If this makes me feel your fury every time a student acts up, I’m going to regret this.” 

He had arched an eyebrow smugly, before whispering into the shell of her ear: “Are you _sure_ I’m actually angry every time that happens?” 

Shivering at the pleasant tickle of his breath against her sensitive skin, she had muttered: “I should have known. You’re just … playing them, are you?” 

“Quite right,” he had said, his tongue flicking her earlobe, making her gasp. “I do enjoy my games.” 

The only thing they had absconded from, was a binding spell. _It was too early, she told herself, though she suspected that if she’d ever bind herself to anyone, it would be him, and no other. But... did he feel the same way? She hoped so, but hadn’t dared to ask._

Cohabiting with him felt very strange, but also surprisingly normal. During the day, it was much the same as it had always been. They saw each other at meals, and went about their day separately. In the evenings, they worked together in his quarters. 

At first, after dinner, he’d finish up his marking sitting by the desk, while she traced calculations, standing in front of her trusty magical blackboard, working through arithmetic problems, going through her students’ predictions. 

The only sounds would be the scratching of his quill, while she would at times mutter to herself, jotting down observations on a notepad. 

Then, they’d turn to reading, taking a chair each in front of the fireplace, having tea or a Firewhisky. They ended, invariably, on the sofa, still reading, she curled into his arms, while he carded his fingers through her hair absently. The excitement built up in her body, tingling at his proximity, promising ecstasy to come, as he slowly got hard when she stroked his thigh. 

Finally, it would be bedtime, and by that time, they couldn’t get their clothes off soon enough. 

This morning, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder, her sex throbbing almost uncomfortably by the rough treatment he’d given her the night before, she almost spilled her coffee as a Patronus burst into their bedroom. It was a white dove, and the unearthly, desperate voice clearly belonged to Euphemia Rowle: 

_Severus! He’s here - I can see him prowling on the outskirts of the property. He can’t get past the wards, but he’s trying. Gods, he’s come to kill me, you know? I’m activating the emergency Portkey in three minutes. Meet us by the gates. Please!_

Severus shot up from the bed, spelling his clothes on with an incantation Hermione had never even heard of, and he was the immaculately dressed Professor Snape in a second. 

“Wait here,” he said, eyes dark. “I’m getting Euphemia and Morgana to safety.” 

“Was that about… Thorfinn Rowle?” she asked, and he nodded curtly. 

“It must have been. We’ll see.” 

Xxxx

He strode down the icy corridor, the hastily performed clothing spell working like a dream, though he could still smell the sex from last night on his body. _Or maybe it was primarily from his chin._

Stopping briefly outside the great Entrance doors, squinting at the early March sunlight, he cast a quick Scourgify on himself. While it made him clean, it also felt like he tried to rip off his skin, the spell scouring like an abrasive cloth used much too roughly for comfort. 

_Oh well, better than smelling like a brothel as he met his Goddaughter and Euphemia._

_Last night, he had forced Hermione to stay still, her legs quivering on all fours in the bed, telling her to obey, ignoring the way she begged for release, as he licked her slick little pussy from behind._

_Her sighs and whimpers had made him rock hard, palming his cock as he tasted her sweet little cunt, his tongue barely being able to enter that tight hole, her hard nub begging for his attention, making her squirm and rock her body back at him._

_“Stay still,” he had admonished her, but she hadn’t listened, writhing her hips, trying to get off without him allowing it._

_Her disobedience had earned her a few good, hard smacks on her arse, making the cheeks jiggling enticingly, turning red, her moans growing more loud with each strike. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, rising up, freeing his cock and pushing inside her. It was still such a stretch, his cock barely fitting inside that tight opening, but she had gasped, arching her back, showing her willingness to take all of him._

_Using force, he had slammed himself fully inside, and she squealed, legs trembling, but as he snaked an arm around her round hips, rubbing the her aching nub, she quickly became a panting little mess, thrusting back on his cock, the wet sheath sliding with a growing ease on his shaft as he widened her, stretching her to fit his size._

_Leaning back, both hands on her hips now in a hard grip, eyes slitted in concentration, he had watched the delicious drag of his cock thrusting in and out of her, seeing the shining slickness coating his shaft. His heart hammered, listening to the mewls coming from his witch, knowing that he was filling her to the point of bursting, and his balls were tightening, lifting up, getting ready to give her all he had got._

_“Take it,” he had groaned, “take it all, you take my cock so well, now take it all!”_

_“Yes, fill me up,” she had almost squealed, “I want you to come inside me! Please, Severus, give it to me!”_

_Her head had been hanging down between her arms, jolting by every hard thrust he gave her, but when he rubbed her clit again, she raised her head, looking back over her shoulder. Brown eyes glazed in pleasure met his, and she muttered: “Please, Severus, it’s so good, I need you!”_

_Holding her gaze, he muttered hoarsely: “Come for me, Hermione, come on my cock. Now, witchling!”_

_With a whimper, she obeyed, and as she crested, cunt squeezing him so deliciously, he had come inside her, snarling and growling, not being able to do anything but pumping her full. She collapsed forward, with him on top, crushing her body into the mattress, before they had rolled around, promptly falling asleep, her with her head on his chest._

His cock twitching slightly as he thought of her pink, glistening pussy, her juices saturating into his chin, but he quickly Banished such thoughts. _Now, he was trudging down to the gates to talk to a very distraught witch and a probably too-happy two-year-old who in all likelihood loved the excitement. Sex should be the farthest thing from his mind. Even though the witch he loved seemed to love him back._

Xxxx

Hermione washed quickly, still feeling him acutely between her legs after last night’s romp, wondering if there would ever come a time when she wouldn’t notice, if she’d ever get used to his size. _Being who she was, she had looked up statistics on average length and width, and he was far beyond average, surpassing the ‘normal’ specter of the statistical curve by quite a few centimeters._

After twenty minutes, Morgana came rushing in, followed by Severus, Euphemia and Minerva. 

“He’miny!” the little girl squealed, black curls streaking behind her, throwing herself around Hermione’s neck. 

“Hello, so nice of you to visit,” she said, smiling at the little girl.

Hermione had the notion that she should pretend normality for the sake of the little girl, sparing her for the bleak reality of the visit, but that was apparently not the case. 

Morgana shrugged: “Not visit, we’re hiding! The bad men will kill us.” 

Minerva’s eyes shot to her hairline, and she pursed her mouth, glancing disapprovingly at Euphemia. _Clearly, it wasn’t only Hermione who had expected the Rowle woman to protect the child from the truth._

Euphemia was pale and distraught, almost wringing her hands. “I had to tell her, she’s not satisfied if I try to keep things from her. It’s like she knows if I … omit anything. Just like _him_ , you know. Could spot a lie without fail.”

“Well,” Minerva said sharply, “she is a small child. Death Eaters aren’t anything she should be worrying about.” 

Severus said pensively, settling in his favourite chair: “I’m not sure she’s worried. She isn’t old enough to understand what it means.” 

“Anyway, you need to take care of her from now on, Severus. I … I … can’t do this anymore. Seeing him … Merlin, I thought my heart stopped. I feel like a sitting duck with him prowling around us. You know what he did to me. _You_ know how it was.” Euphemia hid her face in her hands, sobbing in great, wracking spurts. 

“I _know_ ,” Severus said, deep voice soothing. “He can’t get inside the wards, though. You were safe. Thorfinn can’t get to you.” 

“What am I to do if Morgana runs outside? He’ll kill us both on sight.” Euphemia’s voice was high, shrill and panicky. 

“Tea,” Minerva said firmly. “We’ll have tea before we discuss this.” 

Morgana wandered around in the living room, glancing at all the books as Hermione set out the tea things and Severus brewed a large pot of strong tea. 

“Read?” the girl asked, pulling at Severus’ sleeve. 

“I will,” he muttered, “but not right away. Would you like scones with strawberries for your tea?” 

“Yes!” the little girl beamed, “S’berries!” 

There was a look of concentration on Severus’ face, and in less than a minute, a House-Elf popped in with a tray of scones, clotted cream and strawberries. 

“Oh, look!” Morgana said, eyes round with fascination as she stared at the Elf. 

The House-elf looked equally pleased at seeing a child, grinning widely: “I’m Kindany, young Miss. Will Miss want hot chocolate instead of tea? With a dollop of cream?” 

Morgana nodded, seemingly speechless, and Kindany disappeared with a loud pop, returning promptly with a steaming mug of hot chocolate. 

The little girl took the mug reverently, smiling shyly at the House-Elf. Kindany waved happily at her, before Disapparating again. 

Settling at the table, Morgana busy spooning strawberries and cream over her scones, Euphemia said: “I really meant it. I want to disappear abroad, making certain Thorfinn will never find me, and… Severus, we’ve talked about this. You need to take care of her yourself, or… find someone else.” 

He nodded slowly, casting a glance at Hermione. “I know. Minerva, as I see it, this is the only solution. If I perform a magical adoption, I could present her as my own child, and while there’ll be questions, her life will be fairly normal, compared to…” 

Minerva sipped her tea, pursing her lips. “What about the backstory? I mean, people will question who the mother is, and why you’re not together.” 

“She could have died during the war,” he said, shrugging. “It’s true, isn’t it?” 

“Yes, or you could…” Minerva grinned slyly, before continuing:”This, of course, will cause a small scandal, but in the long run, it might be better.” 

“What do you mean?” he barked, glaring at the Headmistress, making Hermione wonder what this was all about. 

“Oh, “ the woman muttered innocently, before the Chesire cat grin broke out again: “You could tell the world she’s yours,” her hands indicating Hermione and Severus. 

“Ours?” Hermione said weakly. “I would have been a student…” 

“Yes,” Minerva said, to the shocked faces of the three other adults. “You were at it during Dumbledore’s last year, she became pregnant, and then things - _you know what_ \- happened, and you drifted apart, only just now getting back together.” 

There was a stunned silence, before Hermione said decisively: “That would never work. I mean, lots of people would _know_ this wasn’t true. I wasn’t pregnant, I was on the run, in a _tent_ , in the _woods_ , fighting _battles,_ for crying out loud!” 

Severus shook his head, looking almost hurt. “Minerva, you know I would never have touched a student. If my reputation isn’t bad enough as it is, this will make it … even worse.” 

xxxx

Euphemia was hugging herself, like she was cold, eyes glassy, and Severus realized the woman was too lost in her own panicked desperation to contribute to the discussion. This suggestion from Minerva was the most hare-brained thing he’d ever heard, and … _oh wait. This was the first outrageous suggestion, designed for a refusal, and now, Minerva would show her hand, putting her real proposal on the table._

He narrowed his eyes, looking at the old bint. 

Minerva shrugged, looking artfully casual, though he could see she was a smug as a Niffler on a hoard of gold. “You should both adopt her, then,” she said, nodding at Hermione. “Or else, the real mother’s name will still show in the Hogwarts’ ledger. If you both adopt her, you will be her parents. Morgana’s Mum and Dad, here, at Hogwarts.” 

Morgana peeked up, her tiny face smeared with liberal amounts of chocolate, cream, crumbs and strawberries, and said: “Mum and Dad? Here?” She grinned widely at Severus and Hermione. “I want that! And that… that… with this?” she struggled, gesturing with her mug of hot chocolate, obviously having never heard of House-elves. 

“House-elves,” his pretty witch automatically supplied, “they work here at Hogwarts, tending the kitchen and the castle.” 

“Yes,” the girl said, trying out the word: “House- e… e...elf.” 

Pointing her tiny finger determinedly at Severus and Hermione, she repeated fiercely: “I want that. Make it so!”

Suddenly, a chill went through him. There was something about the stubborn set of the little girl’s jaw that he associated with Voldemort, just like the Dark Lord had looked when he made a decision. _With her magical strength and her heritage, he’d have to work long and hard indeed to make sure Morgana came out right, knowing that she shouldn’t abuse her power, not turning down the path of her parents._

Looking at his witch, he said slowly: “I think we need to discuss this first. Minerva…. Would you be so kind to let Euphemia stay for a few days, until she’s calmed down and made some plans?” 

“Certainly,” the old witch said, “I’ll see about a guest room right away. If you’ll come with me, Mrs. Rowle, and you too, Morgana. I assure you, you’ll be quite safe.” 

The three witches, one old, one middle-aged and one very small, left the room, Morgana skipping happily ahead of the two others. 

Silently, he observed his witch. She was pensively gnawing on her bottom lip, eyes dark and lost in thoughts. 

Clearing his throat, he said, much too lightly: “Magical adoption is a binding magical contract.” 

“I know,” she said distractedly, and he snorted. 

“Of course _you_ know. I was merely pointing out the ramifications.” 

“Yes.” She was still silent, and he felt a sense of unease creeping in. _It was much too early. Asking her this, was tantamount to a marriage proposal, tying them together forever by their bond to Morgana._

“It would be beneficial to Morgana,” she said at last. “But… you and I…” 

Severus felt panic rise inside. _This was it. She had no intentions of a long lasting relationship, this was just a brief moment of fun for her, wasn’t it? She was going to cast him away. He was too old, like he had thought. Would he manage to walk away -_ **_pretend_ ** _to walk away - yet again? He needed her! Or, he could…_

Then she said, her eyes big and dark: “I don’t know if this was anything you envisioned with me. If it isn’t, I understand that. I mean, I’m … me, and you are, well, _you_. I don’t want to tie you up into something you really don’t want.” 

“I want it!” it came out gruff, almost like a snarl, but he couldn’t help it. Holding her gaze, he said, reluctantly: “It’s your choice, Hermione. You’re young, you might want different things with your life than an old, scarred Professor and a child that isn’t yours.” 

Then she smiled, looking relieved, making something like a ray of sunlight, a radiant, blessed beacon, filter into the depths of his heart. “Oh, I know what I want. I want you. And Morgana - we’ll get along. She’s sweet.” 

Xxxx

_The bond settled._ Severus sighed, feeling as if a mantle of … _fatherhood …_ fell over him. _A sense of belonging, as if this child was truly a part of him._

Smiling wryly - _he’d never thought this would happen to him -_ he met Hermione’s eyes, seeing her big brown eyes become wide with wonder and amazement, the family bond encompassing her too. 

Morgana squeezed both of their hands, looking inordinately satisfied. “There,” she crooned, “my Mum and Dad. I feel it!” 

With a small whoop, she jumped up, curling her small legs, using their hands as a swing, slinging herself back and forward, her feet barely touching the stone floor in the Head’s office. 

_Minerva had performed the ritual, and he and Hermione had given a solemn bond to protect, care for and raise Morgana as their own child. A small, deft cut from Minerva’s silver knife slit their fingers, blending their blood in a small golden bowl - the child crying out, lips quivering at the sudden sting of it as her blood dripped into the vessel - and the four of them chanted: “Parentibus aternam, facti sunt mihi heredis,” Morgana having practised the very difficult words until the wording stuck perfectly._

_Severus and Hermione’s magical powers had risen, like a ghostly spectre of themselves standing outside their bodies, his a dark green, bordering on black, like an forest during nighttime, branches undulating in the wind, hers a blue tipped with silver, like sunlight playing on waves, or rather majestic ocean swells. Finally Morgana’s magic broke free of her body too - the child gasping in delight, her eyes shining - a blazing reddish gold, rosy like the sky just after sunset, pulsing strongly with a fierce, untamed power, like the sun was about to rise again at the wrong time._

_The three spectres of magic met, merged into a dazzling white light, and the three of them - their physical bodies - held hands, squeezing hard, as the magical shapes became one - split again, returning to their bodies, but forever changed, carrying a sliver of the others in them._

Severus took a deep breath. All in all, it had been a breathtaking experience, and he could feel it in his bones, the connection pulsing softly through his body, like a lingering warmth. 

“This is a wondrous sight,” Minerva said, her voice thick. “I have never witnessed this before, but it is…” Her voice faltered. 

Euphemia nodded. “Me neither. I feel… awed almost,” a look of amazement in her eyes, her worries momentarily smoothed from her face. 

“It’s the high magic,” his witch piped up, looking as obnoxiously smug as she had always done in his classroom, but this time, he merely smiled fondly. 

Hermione cleared her throat, clearly in the mood for lecturing: “Few spells activate higher magic, and most of them are bonding magic in some form. It’s because these spells utilize our magical cores.” 

“Very good,” Minerva said with a straight face, like Hermione still was her teacher’s pet. He almost snorted, as Minerva threw him a sidelong glance of amusement. _As if Minerva and he didn’t know these things. Oh well, maybe Euphemia didn’t._

Euphemia’s respite from her overwhelming fear had been short, it seemed. Her expression quickly fell back into the look of worry and fear which had been seemingly fixed on her face since her arrival at Hogwarts, and she began her annoying habit of wringing her hands anew. 

As Minerva served tea and cakes to celebrate the ceremony, Morgana going wild over the different sorts of cakes, he said gently to Euphemia: “I’ll find him, kill him for you, Euphemia. No one should have to go through what you’ve been experiencing.” 

“Thank you,” she said listlessly, “but do take care. As you know, he’ll probably have company.” 

“Did you see anyone but him?” 

“No. That is, I didn’t see him either, he was Disillusioned, but I recognized his magical signature. The wards pinged more than once, so… It would be one of his friends, I think. Macnair and he were thick as thieves, you know.” 

“No matter that,” he said firmly. “I’ll see to it. You could stay here at Hogwarts for a few weeks, I’m sure I’ll have sorted it out.” 

Weakly, she muttered: “Thank you, but I wouldn’t want to intrude…” 

“The castle is big enough, it shouldn’t be a problem.” 

“I’ll think about it. If I am to go abroad, I’ll need to visit my Gringotts’ vault…” 

“Which is a bad, bad idea,” he finished, “because they will be sure to keep Gringotts under surveillance. Stay here, be safe, and let us make this transition as easy as we can for Morgana.” 

Later, as Hermione tried to keep Morgana from eating her sixth piece of cake, patiently telling the child that she would get sick, he and Minerva checked the great Hogwarts ledger. 

And correctly, Morgana’s surname had been changed. Her surname was no longer the impossibly long ‘Black Lestrange Riddle Voldemort’, but quite simply: ‘Morgana Granger-Snape’.

The adoption had worked, and in whatever official record there might exist of her, the child’s name would be changed. Though he wondered: _Would the child still be able to access Voldemort’s own Gringotts’ vaults? Had the Dark Lord hidden away any real treasures in there?_

Xxxx

“I’m going with you,” she said with fierce determination. “You’re not doing this alone. I heard you.” _If the blasted man thought he’d play the hero all alone, taking down another Death Eater all by himself, he was in for a surprise. He was tied to her, now, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer._

Morgana was still sleeping in Euphemias’ room, while the castle was busy creating a new room for her in Severus’ quarters, the stones creaking and groaning as the castle flexed its power, carving out a bedroom fit for a little princess. As unbelievable and insane as the idea seemed, tomorrow she’d go shopping for furniture, blankets and whatever a child needed, along with Severus Snape. _She was sure this shopping trip would blaze a trail in the Prophet for days._

Now, the infuriating man in front of her was getting himself ready to fight Thorfinn Rowle, and in all probability, some of the man’s friends as well. 

He calmly continued to collect different potions - _Healing potions, revival potions, antivenins, antidotes, Strengthening Solutions and a few others -_ securing them in pockets inside his robes, acting as if he hadn’t heard her at all. 

“Did you hear me?” her voice was getting shrill. 

“I did. This is not a game, Hermione, and you know what I’m aiming for. There’s no mercy in this. Can you even do that - kill someone in cold blood? Because that’s what it takes. Are you a killer?” 

She blinked for a moment, before she narrowed her eyes, taking a step closer to him. 

“Severus.” Her voice was low and grating, almost unrecognizable to her own ears. “I _know_. I know the Ministry won’t catch them, and after what happened at Christmas, I know they’re not even _trying_. I _know_ what happened to Poppy. I know what they want to do to me - to _you_ \- and to almost anyone I know. I can handle this. But you’re not going to do this alone! You want to protect me? Fine! But I want to protect you too.” 

He sighed. “I’m not going alone, Hermione, though your concern is … touching. I’m taking Lucius.” 

“Lucius? As in Lucius Malfoy?” Her voice sounded exactly as surprised as she felt on the inside. “Can you really trust him? This is all the more reason for me to go with you!” 

He picked up his robes, shrugging them on, and turned to her with the well-known billowing, scowl on his face, though it hadn’t intimidated her for a long while, now. 

“Lucius is my friend. I trust him. I know he can take care of himself in a fight, he’ll run if we’re outmatched. Whereas you… You’ll fight till the bitter end, won’t you? That means, I will be responsible for you surviving. I’ll have to drag you away from the fight if it gets too tough.” 

Her eyes narrowed. “Instead of fighting to the bitter end yourself.” 

He looked suddenly embarrassed, as if she had caught him out. “That’s… right,” he said finally. 

“And that’s exactly why I should go with you,” she crowed, knowing that she had scored a major logical point in their argument. “To ensure that _you_ don’t let yourself be _killed_ by your own, stupid pride.” 

He glared at her for a moment, but then he shrugged. “Alright, then. But if I say we leave, we leave. _Immediately._ You hear me? Will you accept my command?” 

Grinning like a cat who got the cream, she nodded. “Aye, captain!” 

Xxxx

“Miss Granger?” Lucius Malfoy sounded surprised, before his face morphed into a leering smirk. “Or is it Mrs. Snape, already?” 

“Granger will do, thank you very much,” she replied snippily, glaring at the man. _Who dressed for battle like that? At the last battle, she remembered him wearing some sort of dark armour, but today, he had a green silk frock coat, looking every inch the fop._

The blonde man shrugged, saying casually: ”I have no doubt, Severus will get around to proposing at some time or another. Won’t you, Severus?” 

She blushed a little at that, but Severus scowled at his friend. “Remember…” he said threateningly, making the other man grin even wider. 

“Well, if she’s going to be a permanent fixture, I suppose it’s prudent to involve her in these ...activities too,” Malfoy drawled. “Does she know how to handle herself? I mean, I know she took part in a battle, but did she ever go on a raid?” 

“I’m right here,” she pointed out angrily, “there’s no need to talk over my head like I’m not there. For your information, Mr. Malfoy, I know how to sneak up on someone.” 

“Jolly good,” the man smirked. 

“Right. Stop this .. foolish… bickering.” Severus said, looking irritated. “This is the plan for the raid: We know Thorfinn and Walden stay in Harborne, Birmingham. This was the home of Walden’s grandmother, and he believes he has kept this home a secret, since his grandmother was a Muggle.” 

“A Muggle!” Malfoy was clearly shocked, and Hermione sneered at him. 

“Surprised?” she sniped. “The Death Eaters weren’t as pure of blood as you thought?” 

“How did you know?” Malfoy asked, ignoring her completely. 

"Legilimency, I’ve known for years,” Severus said curtly, and that made Malfoy break out in a wide grin. 

“I bet you blackmailed him. You did, didn’t you?” Malfoy said gleefully. 

Severus shrugged, but there was a small tug of his lips. “I might have done, on a few occasions.” 

Hermione narrowed her eyes. _Right. Blackmail…_ She didn’t know how to feel about that, considering that it was clearly wrong. Then again, she couldn’t claim the high moral ground, as there was that business with Skeeter after her fourth year. Keeping someone in a jar for three months was probably not … _entirely_ good … either. 

“Never mind his grandmother,” Severus continued. “It’s a large, residential area, Victorian houses, occupied by affluent families. We’ll dismantle his wards, enter, reset the wards, and as soon as they are back, you, Hermione, can slam down the anti-Apparition wards. Lucius, you stay Disillusioned, while Hermione and I go for the first attack. As usual, you’ll use stealth to overcome them while they’re busy fighting us.” 

“Which spells should I use?” Hermione asked, and Severus gave her a grim smile. 

“Whatever you want. We’re not aiming to take them alive.” 

She took a deep breath. “Ok. No limits, then.” _To protect Severus, she’d do anything. Even …_ **_that_** _._

“No limits, little Gryffindor,” Malfoy said in an annoying sing-song voice, looking even more gleeful. “You’ll see how we do it in a real raid. Who knows, maybe you’ll think it’s more fun this way.” 

The three of them Apparated into Harborne, landing discreetly in a park, before walking Disillusioned through the playground full of laughing and playing children and out on the cobbled street beyond. 

This was obviously an area for well-to-do Muggles, and Hermione couldn’t help looking around, seeing the immaculate gardens and tall trees. This early in the year, only a few flowers bloomed in the gardens, but it was easy to see with her practised eye, both from watching her mother gardening over the years and her own experience with Herbology, that the Muggles in this area cared for their gardens. The flower beds were readied for new cuttings, rose bushes were carefully pruned, and many had small greenhouses for cultivating plants. 

_A very nice place to live, safe, beautiful and with spacious houses. Not a place where one would expect to find a Death Eater in hiding, not at all._

Severus led them with whispered commands of “left,” “right,” “forward to the next crossing,” and so forth. Soon, they found themselves outside a pretty, detached brick house, sitting on a quiet street. 

Silently, Severus Dismantled the wards, picking apart traps and detectors. Hermione stood still, feeling her heart hammering in her chest. _She was nervous, there was no doubt about it, and … she hadn’t been in a duel since the war ended. Was Severus right when he wanted to keep her out of this? Were her skills honed enough? Would she come out of this fight unharmed, or would she suffer life-threatening injuries and curses? Would Severus survive?_

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, planting her feet in the ground. _She was here to make sure Severus survived, if it was the last thing she did. That was why she was here, to protect the man who was seemingly willing to sacrifice his life and reputation for what he thought was right. She wouldn’t let him go down that path again. Today, she was saving Severus Snape._

“There,” Severus finally breathed, “I think it’s done. Double-check, will you?” 

Both Malfoy and Hermione responded to the question, probing the gates, the garden and the house for hidden spells. 

“Nothing,” Malfoy concluded, but Hermione wasn’t so sure. _There was something - a whisper of magic, layered deeply in the structure of the house..._

“No,” she said, “there’s more. Interwoven, maybe residing in the cellar…” 

Probing deeper, she found a nasty little ward, designed to incarcerate anyone who entered without Macnair. 

“I’ll see to it,” Severus said gruffly, and another five minutes went by, as he struggled to destroy the ward. At last, it dissipated, leaving a sour stench of iron to the air, and Lucius muttered: “Blood ward.” 

Carefully, they entered the garden, moving slowly towards the green, wooden door. Lucius picked the lock with a simple, whispered “ _Alohomora_.” 

The house was lovely on the inside, with expensive furniture and paintings on the walls, and the evening sun fell softly through the windows, making dust motes dance in the light. The Macnair home was pretty, she had to give him that. 

Whispering, she asked: “Did Macnair live here?” 

Severus snorted a small laugh. “No, not at all. His gran lived here before she died. He’s just kept it as a hideaway, for sentimental reasons. To my knowledge, not even his wife knows he’s a Half-blood.” 

Lucius Malfoy sniggered. “I wish I knew sooner. Imagine what fun we could have, taunting him, Severus?” 

The other man chuckled, a rather sinister chuckle, if Hermione had to say so. “Who says I didn’t? Every time the Dark Lord held a speech, I used to ask him how his gran was. He was appalled that I had found out. It was … easy to make deals with him.” 

“It’s a good home, though,” Malfoy said reluctantly. “Shame about freezing the paintings, though. An Unfreezing Charm never livens them up properly. There’s always something woodenly about the way they move afterwards.” 

If the man hadn’t been Disillusioned, Hermione would have goggled at him. _Didn’t he know Muggle paintings and photographs were still images? Was it actually possible that Lucius Malfoy knew so little about the Muggle world?_

“Sssh,” Severus said. “I need to reset the wards. Will you be quiet for a moment? Lucius, since this is a Muggle area, it will be prudent if you set up a soundproof _Notice-Me-Not_ as soon as they arrive. If the house is destroyed, the Muggles will explain it as gas leaks, so we don’t need to avoid any damage to the house.” 

They waited for almost two hours, and Hermione busied herself by going through the bookshelves, while the two wizards were chatting quietly. 

Then, the lock clicked, the door opened, and Macnair came sauntering in, followed by Rowle and what simply had to be Vincent Crabbe’s father. The former Ministry Executioner was much older than the two other men, possibly in his sixties, looking grizzled and thin. The two other men seemed to be in their prime, though they too looked like life on the run might have been rough, lines from premature aging riddling their brows. 

Hermione breathed out slowly. _Three of them, when they had been expecting two. It was a good thing she had joined in._ The eagerness for battling, for taking down these vile people made her magic tingle, and she slowly flexed her hand, loosening the grip on her wand, relaxing her muscles. _Be ready. Be smart. Be strong,_ she told herself _. Remember what they did to Poppy. Remember what they want to do to you, and to Severus._

“Merlin, I’d love to bring up a bottle or two from your cellar,” Crabbe said, glancing at Macnair. 

The other man shrugged. “Suit yourself. There’s enough to go around still.” 

Crabbe whistled as he went into the kitchen, presumably to go downstairs. 

Rowle lowered himself into the sofa carefully, tugging off his boots. “Fucking Muggle shit,” he mumbled. “Doesn’t adjust to my feet, does it?” 

Macnair snorted. “Told you, didn’t I? If I said it once, I said it a hundred times. You shouldn’t go grabbing whatever boots you fancied in there, measure your damned feet first, I said! Don’t complain to me when you don’t listen.” 

The younger man just grumbled, massaging his obviously aching feet. 

Hermione was almost bouncing on the balls of her feet. _When would Severus start the attack? It was perfect, with Crabbe downstairs, giving them a head start…_

And then Lucius Malfoy slammed down the Notice-Me-Not, making the other men blink in surprise. 

Shooting up the Anti-Apparition wards, covering the entire premises, the blast of magic running through her veins like liquid fire, she let her Glamour fall seconds after Severus’, her Shield up, setting it to rotate like Severus had taught the students in their class on the _Vir Mulier Scuto._

The two men yelled, both of them shooting up from their chairs, wands bristling. 

She threw an Expulso at Rowle, which he easily whisked away, sending the curse careening into the dresser filled with china, breaking the porcelain into shards and splinters, covering the room. 

“Hey!” Macnair yelled angrily, shooting something viciously yellow at Hermione. She deflected it, her Shield holding admirably, but the spell seemed to etch a hole, like it was acidic in nature, as it hit the wall behind her. 

Severus threw something black and horrendously large at Macnair, making the man scream pitifully as it engulfed him, and Rowle gasped, sending a large swathe of something pink towards his friend, piercing the dark cloud. 

Macnair emerged, looking severely shaken, hands trembling around his wand, but he shot a strong, red beam straight at Severus, which he deflected lazily. 

“Trying to Stun me, are you? You have to do better than that,” Severus drawled, not even breaking a sweat, as he again cast a spell Hermione couldn’t recognize, a puffy dark grey cloud shooting out towards the two wizards. 

They coughed, both trying to bat away the cloud, and Rowle spat out: “We’ll get you, you can’t keep the girl to yourself. She deserves to be raised as our Lord’s daughter, not by fucking Mudblood-loving scum like you and your friends!”

Anger rose inside her, uncontrollably, at hearing the slur, and she threw a _Reductor_ at Rowle, hitting his knee-caps, making the man buckle and fall. Quickly, silently, he was bound and Petrified, the work of the still invisible Lucius. 

Macnair tried to Apparate away, putting strain on her wards, but Severus advanced on him, striking him with a red beam, making the man scream and twitch. With a sinking feeling, Hermione realized it was the _Cruciatus_ . Lucius repeated his work, tying up the old man with the Incarcerous and a _Petrificus Totalis_ , and Severus let up the Unforgivable. 

There was a brief silence, and then the drawing room exploded. 

Hermione was thrown into the wall, her shoulders meeting the hard surface with a jarring impact, and she saw Severus falling as well. 

Gasping, feeling disoriented, dizzy, not being able to get to her feet right away, she saw Crabbe enter the room with a malicious grin on his face. 

“Forgot about me, did you,” he mumbled, raising his wand again, ready to cast. Then Lucius revealed himself, as he shouted “ _Avada Kedavra!”_  
  


An instant green jet of light left his wand, and Crabbe crumbled like a broken doll. The silence was ringing, until Severus wheezed from his position on the floor. “A good one, Lucius.” 

They were all looking worse for the wear, clothes torn by the explosion, covered in dust with bloody scratches, but still the three of them couldn’t help grinning. _Relief. To survive another day, though this was a near-miss._ Hermione couldn’t help it, a small, hysterical giggle left her, turning into a near-sob at the end. _So close…_

Malfoy arched a dusty eyebrow, and raised his wand again. “Not done yet,” he muttered, and the green light erupted again, making Hermione freeze, while both Rowle and Macnair slumped, bodies relaxing into a pose of deathly quiet. 

“There,” Lucius Malfoy said, smoothing the torn edges of his frock coat, “it’s time for the fun part. How do we deliver to Skeeter today? I have in mind to cut them up like steaks.” 

She couldn’t help wrinkling her nose, as she slowly climbed to her feet. “That’s … disgusting.” 

“That’s the point,” Malfoy drawled. “I rather _enjoy_ the idea of Skeeter feeling nauseous.”

“Amen to that,” she mumbled, still feeling almost light-headed, like she wasn’t quite herself, “but it’s also going in the newspaper. I don’t want to see that for breakfast.” 

Malfoy snorted. “How would you like it? Present them with a pretty wrapping and bows?” 

“Maybe…” she said thoughtfully, “wrapping isn’t a bad idea. We could mummify them. Like Egyptian mummies, you know.” 

Malfoy tapped his lips, eyes gleaming with interest. “Could be a fun thing. How would you do it?” 

_Hermione knew, she should feel bad about this, but …_ She felt oddly giddy, like she was running a fever, her head empty, like a balloon. _Still, it was better than cutting them up, wasn’t it? Besides, they were already dead._

“It’s easy. I just combine a Shrinking and Drying spell, like this….” she pulled her wand, pointing at the body of Crabbe. An orange light spun out of her wand, desiccating the man’s body, before she Conjured wrappings, tying him up in white bandages. Her rational mind almost jolted to life by the horror of her actions, and a weak explanation formed in her head: _It’s the shock. She wasn’t herself. This was a natural reaction to a life-threatening situation. Being near hysteric, her usual inhibitions lowered, it was no wonder she did things she’d normally never do. Or … would she? Was she really capable of this?_

Shaking her head, she decided to examine that later. 

Malfoy grinned in delight. “My goodness Severus, I understand why you like her!” 

She had never thought she’d ever care for the approval of a Malfoy, but the open enthusiasm for her wicked little spell was … catching, even in her state. 

Severus, however, looked somewhat shocked. “I don’t even want to know how you learned that,” he muttered. 

Xxxx

“Rise, Severus.” 

The man fancying himself his new master sounded less than pleased, but Severus kept his face blank. _They both knew, the new leader of the Dark was no Voldemort. He could never hope to best Severus in combat._

This time, though, he knew he had taken it too far. His credibility was on the line. 

“Our deal was to terminate those who were a threat to both me and you, not exterminating the whole lot of them. Rookwood and Dolohov, for sure, and Mulciber and Jugson might perhaps be … furthering their own interests more than ours, but now I question your judgement. Rowle wasn’t a threat, nor was Nott, Macnair or Crabbe. Those men … they were loyal to us - to _me_.” 

“Are you so sure about that?” Severus said calmly. “You are no Legilimens, whereas I…” 

“Yes, I know!” barked the other man, palming his wand, though Severus knew he’d never dare to attack. _Not in the open_. 

His identity had been a surprise to Severus. Never in the Inner Circle, merely a Ministry spy who later on got a foothold in strategic decisions. _He didn’t know the Death Eaters intimately, and he had no idea about the alliances formed in the past. The Dark Lord had welcomed internal power struggles, cheering on strategic alliances and even straight out warfare, seeing it as a way to weed out the weak. People had died during those skirmishes, while others, like Severus, had thrived. He had his own Inner Circle of trusted friends, but this man knew nothing about these things._

Now, this man had been ‘elected’ leader because of his position: Being capable of ensuring that no Death Eaters on the run were caught on his watch. _As if the Death Eaters ever held elections or voted over anything - the man was right to be paranoid, fearing uprisings and instability._

He should, however, have been more paranoid, because just as with the position of Headmaster, Severus found himself bored by playing second fiddle. _It was time to take the reins. His friends, the true Inner Circle, expected it of him. And, he’d do right by Morgana, giving her the life she deserved. She was his own daughter, now, and he’d protect her like her own father would have done._


	20. Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Who is it?” she demanded, insistently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated the tags with a few um, things.

**The Daily Prophet 2 March 2000**

_Spotted: Severus Snape certainly works fast! Yes, it’s official: He and Hermione Granger are expecting a baby! The two war heroes have finally found love in each other’s arms, and now they’re even shopping for baby things. Together, they’ve overcome so many obstacles to be together: Their great age difference, their past relation as Professor and student, his past as a Death Eater and spy, and her infamous relationship with war hero Weasley. Not to mention the question we’re all wondering about: Does he love her more than Lily Potter?_

_It seems so, unless the devious Hermione Granger has tricked our beloved hero into an unwanted fatherhood. She’s known for taking famous wizards to her bed, having past relationships with none other than her friends Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, plus Quidditch star Victor Krum and now, it’s Severus Snape himself. We can’t help wondering: Will the wedding bells ring this time?_

* * *

The next evening, she had waited up for Severus, as he had taken a trip back to Harborne to set up the mummy-delivery to Skeeter by another Un-authorized Portkey. 

Now he was back, and she settled into the crook of his arms in front of the fire, relaxing for a moment before bedtime. Drowsily, she wondered about Severus’ actions. _Taking it upon himself to be a vigilante, destroying the Death Eaters one by one. Taking care of Voldemort’s daughter, even adopting her. And yet, she felt like there was a piece of the puzzle missing. How did he know so much about the hideouts and the movements of the Death Eaters? Surely the Death Eaters were fairly adept at hiding, and obviously, they were moving around. How did he find them so easily?_

It felt like a lightning strike in her brain, and the pieces finally clicked. Turning in his arms, she stared open-mouthed up at him. 

“Now what?” he asked, that damnable eyebrow lifting. 

“You’re doing it again,” she whispered. “You’re … spying.” 

For a moment, surprise flitted over his face, before he was back in his careful blank mask. “Curious. Why do you think so?” he drawled. 

“Yes, it has to be so. Or else, you’d need your own intelligence system to find them this easily,” she muttered.”I’m presuming it isn’t widely known, based on the reactions of Rowle and Macnair, so… you keep mostly in touch with the leader, right?” 

“Very good, Miss Granger.” His deep rumble made something pleasurable slither down her spine, like a slow trickle of water, tickling her sensitive skin. 

“Who is it?” she demanded insistently. 

Carefully, he put his tumbler down, not taking his eyes off her face. 

“I was approached during the autumn,” he said quietly. “After Dolohov. The new leader sent me a letter, suggesting that we might have mutual interests in removing a few of the more experienced Death Eaters, threatening his position. I agreed, hoping to find out more.” 

“And…?” she asked breathlessly. 

He shrugged. “I did. We didn’t actually meet until well after Christmas, and by that time, I was fairly sure he was inexperienced - as a Death Eater, that is. During autumn, it was clear that he desperately needed help and support by someone who knew more about the organization to stop them milling about. I gave him a few pointers, and in return, he gave me intel on the whereabouts of the old Inner Circle. Now, however, he’s worried about me supplanting him, because I’ve killed off more people than he intended, thus undermining his authority.” 

“Who is it - and what are you going to do?” 

Severus gave her a small smirk. “Actually, the best course of action _is_ to supplant him. Then I can hand the entire crowd on a plate to the Aurors.” 

“What if the Aurors are compromised?” 

“Oh, trust me, in a way, they are. Not all the Aurors, but a few of them.” 

Cocking his head, he leaned in, whispering the name in her ear. 

“It … can’t be true - gods, oh no, I never thought he’d be...” she breathed, shock coursing through her like a crashing wave, quickly being supplanted by rage at such a momentous betrayal, and grief. _Grief for her broken trust, sorrow for having lost someone she considered a good person, a true supporter of Dumbledore - and Harry!_ \- _and a sense of mourning for losing a friend._ “That’s why the Death Eaters never were apprehended at Christmas. Good grief, we need to warn Harry!” 

“That would be a good idea,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ve been thinking, if Potter could watch the entire thing with that Invisibility Cloak of his as I take him down, it would be a help in the trial. I don’t fancy another visit to Azkaban.” 

“Of course not,” she scoffed. Then her eyes narrowed. “What about the person inside Hogwarts?” 

“That _could_ be me, of course,” he said, grinning wickedly at her. “He must have told them he had someone at Hogwarts, but not who it is.” 

“Why did you pretend I was in danger?!” she almost shrieked, grabbing his shoulders, almost shaking him, feeling as she had been … _pranked, or tricked …_ only, this was serious. _Life-threatening, even._

“I wanted you safe, with me, besides I like having you in my quarters, I like having you close at hand,” he said, ruffling her hair with that infuriating calm. Then his face grew serious. “Besides, even I cannot rule out the possibility of him recruiting someone else. Students, or even those idiots that used to follow you around, Byror and Heron. After all, it certainly wasn’t me that alerted the Death Eaters to our little trip to Hogsmeade on Boxing day.” 

Xxxx

“I can’t believe you actually live with him. He’s still so very …. _Snape_ ,” Harry said quietly at her, watching Severus ordering pints at the bar, squinting at her lover’s broad back from their corner table. 

_It had been a stretch, getting Harry to agree meeting her and Severus at the Three Broomsticks. At first, he had been very reluctant, but finally, he agreed._

“It’s good,” she said, grinning at Harry’s uneasy face. “We have something to tell you, though.” 

Harry’s face fell. “Bloody hell, you aren’t pregnant, are you?” 

Hermione barked a laugh. “Heavens, no! Nothing like that. Not at all.” Sobering quickly, she whispered to Harry: “It’s about the war.” 

“Oh.” Harry still peered at her, like he didn’t quite believe her, but when Severus returned with the pints, the fixed, polite smile on Harry’s face returned too. 

“How are you, Professor?” he said much too brightly, as Severus sat down at the table. 

Arching an eyebrow, Severus pulled Hermione into the crook of his arm, drawling: “Good, Potter, so very good.” 

Harry looked faintly sick, but nodded, still keeping up that awful, fake smile. 

“So,” Severus rumbled, setting a Silencing spell around them. “I’m going to tell you something you may not like, Potter, about the Death Eaters. Will you give me a Vow of Silence? I promise, I won’t hold you to it for long.” 

“How long?” Harry said, suddenly looking every inch the professional Auror. 

“A week or two, at the most,” Severus said calmly, his arm warm against her back, his hand slowly stroking Hermione’s upper arm. 

“Ok,” Harry said carefully, putting his wand on the table, touching it surreptitiously. “I solemnly swear, I will not divulge the secret Severus Snape tells me, until he allows it.” 

“Kingsley Shacklebolt is the new leader of the dark.” 

Harry looked at him, blinking once, before he nodded. “I’ve been suspecting him…,” he muttered. “Something changed after he lost the election. As if he … didn’t accept the result.” 

“I’ve been in touch with him. He believes I’m on the Death Eaters’ side,” Snape said curtly, watching Harry like a hawk. 

To his credit, Harry didn’t even blink. “Ok.” 

“Next Friday, he’s having a gathering - a revel, as we used to call it. I’m planning to appear, and I’m going to challenge Kingsley for the position.” 

Now, Harry couldn’t hide his astonishment. “What?” he sputtered. “Are you going to take over the leadership…?” 

“And hand the entire body of Death Eaters to you on a plate,” Severus continued grimly. “I need you to witness me taking him down, and I need you to know my plan beforehand. You could use your Invisibility Cloak, or I could supply you with Polyjuice if you’d prefer that.” 

“Witnessing this would be very useful, but I do prefer my Cloak,” Harry said, a grudging respect coming to light in his eyes. “What about you, Hermione?” 

“I’m going, of course,” she began, but Severus snarled: “You’re not!” 

Harry stared at them, openmouthed. 

Severus sighed: “Hermione, you’ll be in so much danger. You know what they’ll do to you…” 

She snorted. “What about Harry? He’s going to be in just as much danger!” 

Severus rolled his eyes. “Potter is a professional Auror by now, and he’ll be invisible. You, on the other hand, can’t fit underneath that Cloak with him.” 

“I could be Polyjuiced,” she said stubbornly, but Severus shook his head, looking uncomfortable. 

“There’ll be blood detectors on the premises,” he said, “no one that isn’t at least a Half-Blood will get through the wards, unless as a prisoner.” 

Harry chimed in: “It’s true, Hermione, such wards exist. I’ve seen them. If anyone were to use them, it would be the Death Eaters, right?” 

“I could be your prisoner, then?” she said to Severus. 

His grimace looked pained. “ _No_ , Hermione,” he replied empathetically. “Don’t you remember? They’d expect me to…” 

“You wouldn’t do it,” she said confidently, and he scowled. 

“You’re right. I’d never do it, not in a million years, and my cover would be blown. Then we’d have to fight our way out from hundreds of Death Eaters. _That might not work._ I’m not risking your life and sanity _,”_ he hissed, dark eyes burning like coals. 

Harry cleared his throat. “Hermione,” he said gently, “I understand why you’d want to go. But… listen to the Professor, will you? This would be very dangerous for you. He’s right. It’s more dangerous for you than for the Professor and me.” 

  
  


Xxxx

Back in their quarters, she was still more than a little angry with him and Harry. _Like she was a weak damsel in distress, a delicate, fluttering flower to be cosseted and protected._

“You’re angry,” he remarked, one elbow resting on his knee, his hand idly stroking his chin.

“That’s right,” she said curtly, settling on the sofa with a book, determined to ignore him for the rest of the evening. 

“You’re not going to talk to me?” 

Hermione left the question hanging in the air, not deigning him with an answer. 

“Don’t be childish.”

His tone made her look up, it was low, something dangerous lurking on the edges. 

Glaring at him, feeling as if a pout formed on her lips, she looked down at her book again. And suddenly, he was there, looming over her, grabbing her book. 

“Hey, I was reading that!” she snarled angrily, trying futilely to wrestle the book back. 

“Hermione. You can’t ignore me when you’re angry.” For all the world, his voice sounded like patience itself, but the fire burning in his eyes told her he was angry too. 

Sighing in frustration, she folded her arms underneath her breasts, staring up at him. “Fine.You have my attention, now talk.” 

“Behave like an adult, not like a sulking child!” he snapped, one hand shooting out to grip her chin. 

“Don’t touch me!” she growled, feeling rage rising. As usual, her anger caused her hair to act up, bristling with static electricity, sending small jolts through her, like weak electrical shocks. 

“I’m … sorry,” he said with gritted teeth. “I expect you, however, to talk to me, to try to work these things out. Not … silencing me.” 

“You think I can’t handle myself in a fight. You think I’m too weak,” she said, eyes slitted. 

“I know you can handle yourself, but in this case, the odds are stacked against you. When I calculate the risk, as one must, bringing you along will heighten our risk, endangering our mission. Even Potter said so. You can do the calculations yourself. You’re much better than me at Arithmancy.” 

With a sigh, she muttered: “Allow me to be angry, allow me to calm down by myself. Forcing me to discuss this will lead to yelling. I think that’s more childish. Leave me alone, will you?” 

“No.” Now he was grinning crookedly, the foolish man. “I’m going to fuck that rage out of you. Make you satisfied and pliant, forcing you to see that I only want to protect you to the best of my ability.” 

Shocked, she stared at him, and though it was so wrong, something warm shot through her, warming her belly, leaving a tingling feeling in her sex. 

“No, I mean…” she whispered, but he put one large finger to her lips, muttering: “Sssh.” 

The tip of his finger prodded gently at her bottom lip, and despite herself, she opened up, sucking lightly on his finger. 

“Good girl.” The praise made her strangely warm, strengthening the tingling feeling between her thighs. “You know,” he said conversationally, one finger still in her mouth, the other cupping her chin before sliding over her jawbone, underneath her ear to the back of her neck, tilting her head forward, his finger sliding deeper into her mouth, “you want me to care. You want me to protect you, to ensure your safety. You like it. That doesn’t make you any less strong and powerful. Instead, it makes you human. In this case, you know I’m right, but you don’t have to like it. However, I expect you to act like a grown witch. If not, I’ll treat you like …” his voice fell to a growl: “... the naughty little girl you are.” 

With a small shriek, she was Levitated, turned upside down and draped across his lap, all in a matter of seconds, her jeans dragged over her hips, baring her arse. 

_Smack!_ The crack of his hand across her buttocks made her jolt forward, an indignant squeak leaving her, but she fell quiet as his large, warm palm soothed the bruised cheek. It was humiliating, but still, it was like a furnace had opened in her belly, making her insides much too hot, burning for more. 

“This is what I do to my naughty little witch,” he said, voice silky, “You get the spanking you deserve for being so sullen.” 

_Smack!_ The second slap made her groan, but there was also a rush of wetness between her legs. Squirming, she tried to wriggle away, but he gripped her thigh, holding her in place as his hand rose for the third slap. 

_Smack!_ Her clit started throbbing, and … she wasn’t exactly _surprised_ by her own arousal, knowing that she enjoyed his dominance, but she felt slightly overwhelmed by the fierce reaction. _She had dreamt about this, him punishing her. This - this - was the delicious edge between reality and play, blending their real anger with pleasure, but still, she knew he’d never hurt her. He’d stop, if it became too much. She trusted him, loved him even, knowing that he felt the same about her. And somewhere in the back of her mind, there was a small bundle that was all him, after the bonding, after those rituals to ensure her - his - safety. A warm spot, like sunlight in a clearing, making her feel as if all the light and all the love in the world was gathered therein._ Tears rose in her eyes, unbidden, by the sudden emotions, as his hand came down on her arse again and again. 

After what seemed like a long time, he stopped, rubbing her sore cheeks. “You look so good like this,” he muttered, “your tight little arse so red and warm, splayed out on my lap.” 

His hand slid in between her cheeks, feeling the wetness there, and he tsked. “Witchling, are you _enjoying_ your punishment? What a depraved little thing you are, finding your pleasure in being spanked.” 

“Please,” she gasped, as his finger slowly circled her opening, “please!” 

“Please what, witch?” His voice was rough around the edges, like he was about to lose control, and she almost sobbed by the thought.  
  
“Please touch me, I want to come!” 

The slow chuckle was sinful at the best, making her stomach curl and clench. “Oh, darling, when you beg so prettily…” 

The flat of his hand stroked her slit, one finger tickling her nub, and she almost convulsed in his lap, back arching up. 

“You’re so ready, aren’t you?” he muttered. “So worked up, so soaked, I can feel you’ve wet my trousers, making a mess with your dripping pussy.” 

“Yes,” she gasped, writing into his hand, begging: “Faster, please, rub me harder!” 

“You’re such a dirty girl, aren’t you,” he rumbled, “wanting your old Professor to spank you, punish you and fuck you.” 

But he did rub faster, and she almost couldn’t breathe, her breath coming in heaving gasps. “Please,” she croaked, “please take me!” 

“No,” he said, infuriatingly calm, “naughty girls don’t get their Professor’s cock in their pussy. You can either get me in your mouth, or … here.” 

His thumb slid back, circling the _other_ hole, and she almost whined: “Severus!” 

_Oh Merlin, this was so scandalous, even thinking about taking him back there, him using her body like that, and…_ Her belly clenched, _hard,_ as his thumb pressed against her hole, and there was a blinding light rising behind her eyes, the world was collapsing, coalescing into white fire burning through her, making her shout, arching her back, pressing against his hand, almost screaming as his thumb momentarily breached her, and she was flying - flying - falling off the edge, becoming weightless, convulsing with deep tremors as ecstasy tore its way through her body, ripping her apart with pleasure. 

Panting, she came down, feeling as if she was oddly cleansed, laying limp across his lap, not being able to do anything but breathe through the slow ripples still coursing through her belly. 

“I think we can safely say you enjoyed this,” he said, voice oddly rusty, his hand now petting her backside. “Such a good girl.” He took a deep breath, before saying, his voice stern: “And now you’ll suck my cock. You need to work up to taking my cock back there … but I must say, I’m looking forward to it. A lot.” 

Pushing her down to the floor, he said, not unkindly: “On your knees, love. Open up. I promise this will be quick.” 

Kneeling, needing to steady herself on his legs to not topple over, she nodded, waiting expectantly as he unbuttoned his trousers, letting his cock slip free. 

One large, warm hand cupped her chin, and she opened her mouth, obediently, receiving his cock, wrapping her lips around him. He was much too big for her to take it all, and her mouth was stretched wide open by the impressive girth. Still, she did her best, suckling on the tip, swirling her tongue around the sensitive head, collecting the drops beading at the slit. 

With a groan, he stroked her jaw, before grabbing her head with both of his hands, and he inched farther in, making her gag slightly, before she remembered to breathe through her nose. 

“Gods, Hermione, you are so good, so lovely, and …” - _she could feel him swell -_ “you’re …” he thrust a little harder, “...all…” before his cock jerked in her mouth, “ ** _mine_**!” 

With a growl, he came, hot seed spurting into her throat, and she swallowed, drinking him up, taking the salty, bitter taste in her stride, her tongue coaxing him through his orgasm, suckling the last drops from his still twitching member. 

Finishing with a kiss to the tip, she smiled up at him. 

Dark eyes stared down at her, and he muttered hoarsely: “You look absolutely debauched down there. And by Merlin, Hermione… I love you. Thank you.” 

  
  


Xxxx

The little girl squealed with happiness, her feet almost flying as she ran into her new room, dancing around as she touched _everything_ , a joyous expression on her pretty little face. 

Severus had to admit, the castle might have outdone itself, and suddenly, he wondered if Hogwarts actually cared for children. _He supposed it might, at that._ Standing in the doorway, his arm around Hermione’s shoulder as she rested her head on him, they watched Morgana - _**their** daughter now - _explore the room. 

Or rather, ‘room’ didn’t even begin to cover it. The castle had built a castle inside itself. There were small stairs leading up to platforms holding real chairs, tables and shelves ready to be filled with books and toys, the posters at the corners of the bed was actually turrets where Morgana would be able to climb up to the roof, there were small, enclosed spaces with arched windows and a trapdoor in the floor that he surmised would lead to an actual dungeon. 

“It’s amazing,” Hermione whispered. “The castle did all this - for her? Because you asked for it?” 

“It did,” he said, and suddenly, he wondered if the castle cared for him too. _He had never seen it go to such lengths before, and … he had asked it playfully for a room fit for a princess. His little princess, now, not the Dark Lord’s daughter. Come to think of it, she was Slytherin’s only surviving heir. He supposed that might have played a part too, when the castle had decided to work fundamental magic on itself to such a degree._

Slowly petting Hermione’s arm, squeezing his witch closer, he felt a deep contentment. _His family, His witch, his child. Who would have thought he’d end up like this? Soon to be Headmaster, soon to rule the true Inner Circle of his friends, soon to execute those plans that they had dreamt of, so long ago, before it all turned to madness, cruelty and paranoia._

Xxxx

Saying goodbye to the class on Friday afternoon, she felt oddly thankful for finally teaching a class that wanted to _learn_. Currently, she was being mentored by Batsheda, and the NEWT Ancient Runes class consisted of fourteen bright pupils that had been a delight for her to teach. Batsheda had proved to be very laid back, having introduced Hermione to her class with a fond smile: “You all know Hermione Granger, but I can also tell you this: She was my star student. You’ll do well to listen to her. If she weren’t set on being an Arithmancer, I’d try to lure her to study Runes instead.” 

Admittedly, the introduction had stroked her ego, satisfying her need for praise, and she had been a little more relaxed as she talked to the students, helping them with their translations. 

But now, butterflies were back in her stomach, because tonight, Severus would fight Kingsley, and .. she had a bad, bad feeling about this. Hurrying along the corridor, anxious to get back to Severus, everything suddenly went black. 

Xxxx

Something nagged at the back of his mind: _Hermione wasn’t back yet, though her class was over forty-five minutes ago._ He was sure she’d make time for seeing him before he left for the revel. _Making time to beg him to come along. So where was she?_

Severus took a deep breath, stopping his pacing around, and pulled at the spells he had attached to her, like strings keeping them connected through time and space. 

_Nothing. She was not at Hogwarts anymore, she was far away…_

Heart starting to hammer, he spun, throwing Floo powder into the fireplace, shouting: “12 Grimmauld Place!” 

Spinning through the red flares of fires, he emerged into the Grimmauld kitchen, just as Potter ladled pasta on his plate. The young man shrieked, ladle clattering to the floor, before saying weakly: “Professor… What’s the matter? I didn't think you'd be here yet, I thought you’d be here in one hour!” 

Ron Weasley stared at him too, blue eyes round with surprise, his spoon halfway to his mouth. 

Glaring at the redhead, knowing that he had _hurt_ Hermione, he snapped: “She’s gone. Taken, I believe. You must come, NOW! We can’t waste time. It has to be now!” 

The two young men rose, and he snapped at Weasley:”Not you, you’re useless.” 

“I’m not,” the young man said, drawing himself indignantly up. “I’ll have you know, Professor, I’m doing very well in Auror training.” 

“That’s a first,” he groused, but Potter was already Summoning his Cloak. 

Weasley muttered: “I can still fit under the Cloak, can’t I, Harry? I mean, if Hermione is in danger…” 

“Polyjuice,” Potter murmured, indicating Weasley. 

Severus scowled, but nodded impatiently. _More firepower was always good, and the boy had been decent enough in a fight._ “You keep your cover, boy, or the first thing I do is to kill you. Hear me?” he said threateningly. 

The boy swallowed. “I see. I’ll shut up, agree to anything I see. I won’t move until Harry says so. I’ll be over here, just drinking my Polyjuice, quietly.” 

“Good,” he grated, throwing a phial with a murky green content at Weasley. “You’ll be Parkinsons’ younger brother. He used to be an initiate. Now, he’s sleeping in his bed at Hogwarts, and he’s not going to wake up anytime soon. Both of you: Keep quiet, free Hermione and GET HER OUT OF THERE!” 

Xxxx

Waking up, she groaned, her whole body feeling like she had been contorted into strange shapes, twisted until her muscles almost snapped. But now, she was lying in a dark room, hands bound between her legs, trussed up like a pig for slaughter. 

Underneath her cheek, there was a cold, slightly damp stone floor, and her face throbbed, feeling as if the surface of her skin had been scraped along something rough. 

_Merlin, what had happened? Where was she?_ With a sinking feeling, she realized, someone had kidnapped her, and that someone was almost certainly a Death Eater. 

Flexing her magic, a small ounce of relief coursed through her. _Whoever took her, wasn’t aware that she had a very good grasp on wandless magic._

“ _Diffindo_!” she whispered, cutting easily through the Conjured ropes holding her. Stretching slowly, she winced, feeling as if her whole body ached, _screamed even,_ as she tried to straighten her limbs properly, as if she had been a giant’s punching ball. 

_What had they done to her while she was blacked out?_ With a sudden worry, she tried to feel if she was hurt down _there_ too, but apparently, she wasn’t. _At least, she couldn’t feel it. Maybe they had just thrown her around, Crucio’ing her or beat her up. Probably, she should be glad that she couldn’t remember, but then again… Not knowing was worse._

Scrambling up on her knees, she Conjured a small, bobbing light, looking around. She was in a small room, obviously in a cellar, with a heavy wooden door barring the single entrance. Prodding at it, she felt a small resistance, telling her that it was warded, set to signal if anyone opened the door. In all likelihood, she’d be attacked soon after leaving the room. She wasn’t surprised when she also felt the heavy weight of Apparition wards, stretching far beyond the room, probably covering the entire building. 

Cold sweat pooled in her armpits, heart hammering, and her head felt woozy after just sitting up. She took a moment, before she staggered to her feet, chest heaving, like she had exerted herself, and her back hurt. _Badly._

Wincing, she set her hands on her hips, trying to support her body as she righted her back. 

_Would she manage a fight, being hurt, her body aching, a wandless fight to boot? Wandless magic was far more taxing, and she was already feeling so very weak._

Dismantling a ward was tedious, but in her condition, it would be a far better idea to sneak away rather than fighting her way out. 

Stretching her body, joints cracking, she set about Dismantling the ward, picking apart the spell slowly and surely. It took a long time, and she was careful - _so very careful to avoid triggering the ward -_ but at last, it Dissipated, leaving the door free to open. 

Taking a deep breath, mustering her courage - _who knew what or who was on the other side? -_ and she pushed the door open. It creaked, moving slowly, and she stepped out into the darkness beyond. 

Xxxx

Young Weasley looked odd, standing in the Grimmauld kitchen with clothes much too big for his new frame as young Petyr Parkinson, and Severus couldn’t help snapping: “For Merlin’s sake, Transfigure your clothes! Everyone will stare if you arrive looking like that.” 

Grumbling, the young man did a half-assed job of Transfiguring his clothing, and Severus rolled his eyes. “How do the Aurors really train you? You are expected to go on surveillance missions, aren’t you? You must be able to Transfigure better than that. Minerva would be ashamed to see this,” he muttered, producing his wand and Transfiguring the man’s robes into a smart robe, fit for a Pure-blood Slytherin. 

Weasley flushed, but gritted out :”Thank you, Professor. Transfiguration was never my best skill.” 

“Anyone could see that,” he retorted, and Potter groaned. 

“Can we just go?” he said plaintively. “Hermione is … The gods know what happens to her as we speak.” 

Severus felt his face darken. “They wouldn’t dare…” he muttered. “If they do, I'll personally have their hides. _Quite_ literally.” 

Breathing heavily, panic and anger again rushing in his veins - _they wouldn’t, would they? Kingsley wouldn’t start before he arrived? -_ he growled: “Come here, I’ll Side-Along you both. Tonight, they are at the ruins of Prince Manor. I can Apparate you inside the wards. Potter, stay invisible at all times, and you, Weasley, act like you’re an old-fashioned Pure-blood. Even _you_ should know how, just sneer at anything you see.” 

With a crack, they were off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the new leader... How do you feel about that? I actually like Kingsley, but I needed someone capable, experienced and strong from the Order, someone in an important position. Arthur or Molly Weasley would be a little far-fetched, and the rest is, well, either dead, too young or not strong enough.


	21. Till the Bitter End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murmurs died down slowly, as Severus walked up to Kingsley, pulling down his mask and slapped his face: “I challenge you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand .... action!

**The Daily Prophet 17 March 2000**

_The Wizengamot finally called for Saul Croaker’s resignation last night. - I’ve been expecting this for some time now, says Ptolemy Bagshot, the Prophet’s political commentator. - It’s been obvious for months that Minister Croaker can’t command the confidence of the Wizengamot, and more or less in secret, other candidates have rallied. I’ll advise the public to look out for Kingsley Shacklebolt, Andromeda Tonks and as always, the old Pure-blood faction will show their hand with a somewhat dark horse. My guess is, it’ll be someone who’s redeemed after the war, maybe even Mr. Malfoy himself._

* * *

Hermione walked unsteadily, carefully Disillusioned, on the uneven stone floor. The corridor was long, with no lights, and after a while, she wondered how big this house really was. She must have moved at least a hundred metres, and still, she hadn’t seen any signs of a stairwell. As she moved further, there were faint sounds coming from above, like it was a crowd gathering, many people talking at once, shouts of raucous laughter breaking through the din. 

Luckily, the sound receded as she moved along, like the people were contained in a large chamber above, not spreading out over the entire house. At last, she saw the stairs, uneven, crudely hewn wooden steps leading up to a heavy door, large nails jutting out from the wooden frame. 

Stopping below the stairs, she prodded at it, feeling the same wards attached to it. Sighing heavily, she started to pick the wards apart, slowly and methodically. 

Xxxx

Arriving at his grandfather’s estate in the north of Lancashire, last year’s yellow, dead grass was long, snaring their feets as they moved. Between the racing clouds, the moon shone over the broken ruins of the manor, making the silhouette of the broken top tower stand out starkly against the white moonlight. 

“Where is this?” Potter whispered. 

Severus replied grimly: ”My grandfather’s estate, Prince Manor. No one has lived there for years and years, and the place fell into ruins during the first wizarding war.” 

Weasley - now disguised as a gangly seventh-year with dark hair and a pudgy face - muttered: “Why here, Professor?” 

“Because it’s empty and warded to the nines,” he said sharply. “No one owns it either, as my grandfather preferred to destroy the place rather than let my mother inherit it. She was disinherited for marrying a Muggle.” 

They walked towards the house, the sound of their feet like an inevitable, slow march. Seeing a faint light emerging from the ground floor, Severus said softly: “You might see things you can’t - _shouldn’t_ \- stomach. Remember the objective - _save Hermione_ \- let the others go. We can’t do anything. Prepare for the worst. You, Mr. Weasley, must even pretend to enjoy it. As must I.” 

_But then again, he could pretend to enjoy it underneath his old mask. Weasley would need to control his face._

Xxxx

The door swung open, and outside, she saw an open-mouthed Francis Heron staring at the _nothing_ of her Disillusioned form. 

“What the hell?” he said in disbelief, before muttering: “Damned drafty house, can’t believe the wind could blow open a door that heavy, though.” 

That made her almost gape in disbelief too. _There was no end to this man’s stupidity. Here he was, guarding the door against a war veteran, and he thought the door opening was a draft?_

Then her eyes narrowed. _Heron - it had to be him that had kidnapped her. He was in league with the Death Eaters, then. He wasn’t only stupid, he was_ **_evil_ ** _too?_

Stomping steps came down the hallway, and her former schoolmate, Gregory Goyle, came around the corner. Looking more like a thick barrel than anything else, he barked at Heron: “The leader says to get the prisoner. He’s about to present her to our brethren.” 

“Alright,” Francis said with an annoyed glance. “I’ll get her, boy, no need for you to interfere.” 

Goyle shrugged. “Just following orders, man, as are you. I’m here to make certain you aren’t _interfering_ with the prisoner. The leader seems to think you want to fuck her. She’s going unspoilt on the show, because she’ll be a present for some big shot who’s joining us tonight.” 

“Who?” Francis said suspiciously, brown eyes narrowing, as he straightened himself, glaring at the younger man. 

“”I don’t know,” Goyle said indifferently. “The only thing the leader said was that she’s not available before after he’s done with her. After that, she’s free to pass around. You can rape her all you want later.” 

Francis blinked, a hungry look in his eyes. “She’s so snooty, thinks she’s so much better than us. I’ll love to take her down a peg.” 

“Sure thing,” Goyle shrugged, his heavy shoulders barely moving. “As I remember, she’s a bit of a prude, so I don’t think she’d be that fun to play with. Probably too proud to scream, even. Suit yourself, old man.” 

Hermione felt anger rising in her, standing stock still, as the two men turned to go down the stairs. _They’d discover her absence within minutes, probably raising an alarm. Filthy, evil little bastards, both of them, ready to attack, rape and kill, wanting to destroy herself - she had to take them out, quickly and silently. Take no prisoners!_

Not really thinking through it, she felt all her rage build, gather to a sharp point, filling her, extending the limits of her body, rising like a tidal wave, ready to crash against the bodies of the two others. With a whisper, it left her, green light shooting forth, as she hissed: “ _Avada Kedavra!”_

It felt like bliss hissing through her body, leaving a dark smudge behind like the rotten remains of something dead and horrid, but at the same time, it was so good, so very satisfying, like a sudden high spiking, making her want _more_. 

The two men tumbled down the stairs, landing in a heap at the bottom. 

Hermione blinked. This was too easy, and it was … _frighteningly_ ... good. _No wonder people wanted such a fix, if using the darkest kinds of magic made you feel like this. So very good, to the detriment of one’s soul._

Though, she could ruminate later. _This was not the right time_ : _This was a time for action, for securing her own survival._

Silently, she moved back downstairs after them, prying their wands out of their dead hands, horrified that she had performed the most Unforgivable Curse of them all, but also partly amazed that she had managed to do it wandlessly. _It was clearly wrong to be proud of achieving such a thing, though it WAS a magical feat that very few would be able to do. Maybe only Severus - and now her. Maybe she would get out of this place alive and unharmed._

Xxxx

As they stepped into what had been the Hall of his grandfather’s home, Severus saw it was filled to the brim. Most had black cowls, but only a few had masks. Severus smiled grimly, knowing that the old Inner Circle was greatly reduced, thanks to himself. He nodded curtly at Weasley, and the man sauntered off, looking like he had every right to be in a Death Eater meeting. He was looking around, like he was searching for friends, though he was looking for signs of Hermione. 

Severus glanced around, probing for her magical signature, feeling the flare of her magic somewhere outside the Hall, to the left. 

From the corner of his mouth, he muttered to Potter: “She’s here. Outside the Hall, somewhere to the left. Get Weasley, go search for her. I’ll keep them busy here.” 

A faint mutter of “yes, sir,” reached his ears, and he nodded grimly, before striding forward to the middle of the throng. 

The cowled leader stood tall, having fashioned himself a mask reminiscent of Voldemort’s snake-like features, the remaining Inner Circle around him. 

Severus elbowed people aside brusquely - _those who knew the visage of his mask knew who he was anyway, and had no expectations of him being polite, while the others merely recognized someone of a higher rank -_ and knelt before the man he had come to kill. 

“Rise,” Kingsley said slowly. Setting a Sonorous on his throat, his voice rang out: “Friends! One of our own has returned to us, one that will strengthen our cause and solidify our work. You all thought he betrayed us, but he never did, staying true to the cause. I give you… Severus Snape!” 

Gasps and angry mutters came from the crowd, and many stretched their necks, trying to get a glimpse of him. 

As Severus rose, he saw Lucius’ mask straight ahead, and the man gave him a small nod. _And suddenly, he knew his chances for getting out alive were very much improved. On his side, there wasn’t only the half-trained boys he had brought along for the rescue, but he had a seasoned, devious friend as well. Or rather friends, in plural._

Kingsley continued: “As many of you have suspected, Severus has been guarding a secret treasure from the interference of the Ministry. A true, living treasure for all of us, the one who will, one day, take up her father’s mantle as a symbol of Pure blood and magical might. Yes, Severus is the guardian of the Dark Lord’s daughter. He has been keeping her safe, raising the child in secret.” 

The mumbling grew, changing from shock and anger to curiosity. _Oh, he knew very well how they felt about Morgana. She was the link to Voldemort, to glorious magical power, and if given the chance, they would turn her into the darkest of witches. The one who controlled Morgana, controlled the Death Eaters. And Kingsley, he had bought Severus’ assurance that he’d comply with Kingsley wishes hook, line and sinker. As if Severus would ever give up the child to anyone._

Raising his voice, a wordless “ _Sonorous_ ” to his scarred throat, he said: “Our late Lord gave me a task, to see to her safety at all costs. The time has come to return her to you, to us all. She will grow up to be our Queen and ruler, under my protection as her Godfather.” 

There was a small movement to Kingsley’s hands, like he was suddenly unsure if Severus would stick to their plan. 

Keeping his face blank, he noted the tiny, imperceptible nods from his longtime allies. Evan Avery, Damien Rosier, Corban Yaxley, Edward Selwyn and Fredo Travers all shifted slightly, their stances more alert underneath their robes, and made him smile behind his mask. _Oh, they’d sit on the fence, cheering on him, though they wouldn’t risk their hides until it was clear he was the victor. And afterwards, they would execute his plan, together with Lucius. Because being a Slytherin meant to have a plan, to stay ahead. Being a Slytherin meant to be the one who won._

  
  


Xxxx

Hermione stopped, hesitantly. _The smart thing was to get the hell out of here, fast. The right thing to do was to Glamour herself, go in there and help Severus. He’d be here tonight, with Harry, to take down Kingsley. She had wanted to help, and with a wand, she was hardly helpless, though her body still ached all over._

Hefting the stolen wands in her hands - a willow wand, while the other seemed to be a blackthorn - she tried them both, giving a little swish and flick, before deciding that there was barely a difference for her. Both of them seemed to be poorly suited. _Or maybe the wands disliked her killing their owners._ A cold shiver crept down her spine, and she pushed those thoughts away. 

Decisively, she chose the willow wand for her right hand, though she kept the blackthorn hidden in her left sleeve too, just in case. Setting a Glamour, she changed her looks from a young woman into an older, hair darkened, shortened with silver streaks, her eyes turning sky blue, like Ron’s, and her body growing stockier. _Yes, she did a good Glamour._

Transfiguring her clothes into a nondescript black robe, she pulled down her Disillusionment Charm, walking briskly towards the noise from the gathering. 

Just outside the doors, she heard a loud voice: “The present should have been here by now, Severus. Just a minute …. Young Parkinson, you wouldn’t mind checking upon Goyle and Heron, will you?” 

“A present?” Severus’ deep voice was a comfort, though the tone of his voice was as disdainful and cold as she’d ever heard it. _As if he was a Death Eater, through and through. She wondered if he had discovered her absence. Would he be scared, or nervous?_

The door opened, and a young, dark-haired fellow trotted outside, brushing past her. The door stayed open for a little too long, like there was someone else following, and she couldn’t help it, sending a tiny probe into the draft. 

_Someone invisible, someone very well hidden, a magical signature she knew so very well…_

As the door closed, she whispered: “Harry? …And … Ron?” 

Xxxx

_A present. The foolish man had ordered the capture of Hermione. Oh, he expected him to … perform, did he? Like in the old days? Well, if he wasn’t here to kill him already, this would be it._

Severus felt rage begin to smolder somewhere on the inside. Like little curling licks of flame, catching on tinder, sparking, growing to a behemoth of a fire, engulfing him. _If the eyes really were the mirror of the soul, his would be as red as the Dark Lord’s right now. But that saying was just that: A saying._ His eyes were just as dead and black as usual, and his mouth curled faintly, saying to Kingsley: “A present? How …. exciting.” 

“People tell me they miss your shows,” Kingsley said. “I know you will enjoy this one, breaking her fully, like the little Mudblood bitch she is.” 

“I see,” he said tonelessly, palming his wand. 

At the far end of the room, he saw Weasley-turned-Parkinson re-enter the room, with an unknown, older woman - and the door stayed open too long, probably to admit Potter too. 

_And that woman… Fuck, she was here. He could feel her magical signature, it was vibrating against his bones, like she was a missing part of himself. She hadn’t left, just Glamoured herself._

He almost grinned in relief, seeing her walking upright, clearly capable of doing magic, not as an abused and tormented prisoner, but at the same time, he was angry she hadn’t been carted off to safety. _But what did he expect? Had Potter and Weasley -_ **_and_ ** _Hermione - ever did as they were told? Still, she was alive. She was free. This was still salvageable._

Lucius met his eyes, and he nodded faintly. 

Turning to Kingsley, he said loudly, arrogantly: “”I can’t see any presents. Are you not even able to present gifts in a timely fashion?” 

“What?” Kingsley blinked, clearly not used to people putting him down anymore. 

With a sneer, Severus said: “I don’t think you have it in you. You’re not strong enough to rule the Death Eaters.” 

Murmurs died down slowly, as Severus walked up to Kingsley, pulling down his mask and slapped his face: “I challenge you.” 

The silence in the ruined hall was sudden, and felt like a ringing in his ears. 

The old Inner Circle stepped hastily away, not wanting to get in the way of what would clearly be a spectacular fight, but others murmured, jostling forward for a better view, the promise of a fight between two powerful wizards seeming to be alluring. 

Kingsley’s mouth worked soundlessly, like he’d never believed Severus would dare to challenge him. 

“You should know,” Severus drawled, “or - _you don’t_ , which is a part of the problem - that our Lord never stopped a duel. He kept a strict rule, if you cannot answer a challenge, you have lost. What will it be, little Auror? You were barely initiated when he fell, certainly not ready for taking the reins of the Lord’s most loyal.” 

The crowd moved restlessly around them, making a circle, but no one contested what he said. Instead, they were eager for blood, whether it was Kingsley’s or his own. 

Xxxx

Hermione stared at Severus, issuing his challenge so arrogantly, so haughtily. _Was he really that confident? Was he… overconfident? Kingsley was a very accomplished Auror, an Order member - or rather, a former one, she supposed, and he was considered very strong. Though she didn’t doubt Severus’ power, she thought it unwise to underestimate Kingsley._

Besides, seeing Kingsley was painful. His betrayal was … hurtful. She had trusted him, to the very end in the Final Battle, and now this. Had the lure of power when he was refused as Minister, been too much, or had he always been partial to Voldemort’s side? He was a true Pure-blood, from an old well-respected family, but still… 

Kingsley drew himself up, staring Severus in the eyes, and grinned viciously. 

“Oh, you show your true colours at last, don’t you, Severus?” he said, voice dripping with venom. “It was never enough for you to be second in command. So ambitious, staying in the shadows, biding your time.” 

“Yes,” her lover gritted out, his eyes glittering strangely, “just like a true Slytherin.” 

Xxxx

The trade of spells started immediately. Severus threw an impressive _Expulso_ , blue lights flashing, deflected easily by Kingsley, who in turn cast a _Confringo_ , blasting a whole in the old, rotting wooden floor, revealing the stone cellars below through a gaping hole. The floor creaked ominously, and the crowd of Death Eaters retreated hastily, forming a wider circle around the battling wizards. 

Almost lazily, Severus responded with a yellowish curse, blooming into life with a sickly flare, expanding as it hurtled towards Kingsley, engulfing him in a yellow smoke. A putrid stench filled the room, and Hermione couldn’t help coughing, though a few spectators even retched. 

When Kingsley emerged, he was huffing and puffing, like breathing had been difficult, casting a lightning quick _Reductor_ in return. The impact on Severus’ Shield made a crashing noise, like thunder, making many wince and cover their ears, and his quick response covered Kingsley in soot and dust, as the roof collapsed over his head, Kingsley Apparating a few metres away at the last moment. 

Ron took her arm, dragging her back, hissing in her ear: “It’s not safe, they might bring the house down!” 

Soon, it was a blur, curses and hexes flashing in all colours, at times slicing through the Shields of both men, causing visible wounds and gashes. 

“This isn’t Ministry approved spells,” Harry murmuring close to her ear, still invisible. 

Hermione snorted, not taking her eyes away from the fireworks of spells. “I can imagine.” 

Many of the spells were unknown to her, and as Severus threw something inky black at Kingsley, making the man scream as darkness oozed through his Shield, she felt something cold trail down her spine.

_This was … dark indeed. True dark spells, the kind taught by Voldemort to his closest followers, the real Inner Circle. Things no one else would know. Just Severus, and a few other of Voldemort’s Chosen._

Her eyes were locked on Severus. _Robed and masked - oh, he looked like a nightmare come to life from the war, wand and hands sprouting dark magic designed to kill._ With a catch in her throat, she realized that no matter what he did - _no matter what he had done to learn all those repulsive, illegal spells_ \- she loved him, cheering him on. 

The inky blackness spread out inside Kingsley’s Shield, tendrils like long fingers reaching for him, latching on to his body, suctioning, like the darkness tried to rip him apart. 

Kingsley, however, must have encountered a similar curse once, seasoned Auror that he was, because he managed to incinerate the darkness with a red flash, searing through the murkiness like the beam from a lighthouse. 

Quickly, Severus thrust his arm forward, body moving like a fencer, a flash of blue leaving his wand, Slicing through Kingsley’s Shield with a vicious _Diffindo_. Hermione saw a quick flash of satisfaction on his face, though the spell didn’t seem to do anything, dissipating as it careened into his opponent’s torso, seemingly harmless. 

The masked Death Eaters, though, murmured in approval, and one of them even shouted - _she thought it might be Lucius_ \- an encouragement: “Good one, Severus! Haven’t seen that in quite some time.”

Xxxx

The _Temerarius_ slid into Kingsley’s body, settling there, and Severus couldn’t help the quick grin of satisfaction. _Only the Inner Circle would know the Dark Lord’s own creations. The spell caused recklessness, both in the short term and in the long run, and most succumbed to it within minutes. Voldemort had used this spell on Dumbledore during the Battle of the Ministry, and while the old coot had won that round, seemingly resisting the curse, Severus was sure it influenced his decisions afterwards, what with trying on the Gaunt ring and keeping secrets like the Horcruxes from the Order._

The effect on Kingsley seemed fairly immediate, though. 

“ _Avada Kedavra_!” the man screamed, spittle flecking his mouth, and Severus ducked as the green light flashed above his head, instead hitting a spectator behind him. The dull thunk as the body hit the floor did nothing to appease the man in front of him, as another volley of green light careened towards him, hitting yet another person. 

Quickly, Severus leapt into the air, the Lord’s _Volo_ spell keeping him airborne as he shot an _Expulso_ down at Kingsley. 

The man had good reflexes, though, jumping away as the spell blasted through the floor, creating another gaping hole in his grandfather’s home. 

Wisely, the crowd of spectators were now running towards the door - _not a single one wanting to fall victim to a stray Avada -_ but of course, Hermione, Weasley and probably the still invisible Potter stayed. 

Severus almost sighed - _damned Gryffindors -_ as he alighted as far away from them as possible, trying to draw the line of fire away from them. 

Another green lightning bolt pursued him, and he ducked, feeling sweat break out - _maybe the Temerarius_ **_had_ ** _been a rash choice -_ but he couldn’t escape the following _Diffindo._

Severus screamed as his left arm was neatly Sliced, his hand falling to the floor with a sudden thump, blood spurting out of the wound. 

_Merlin, he’d bleed out in seconds, if…_

The old woman - _Hermione -_ stepped forward, eyes blazing, throwing curses at Kingsley, distracting him. 

Chest heaving, Severus tried to lift his wand arm to repair the damage - at least cauterize the wound, stopping the bleeding, but though he didn’t feel any pain yet, just an all-encompassing numbness, his body was reacting to the trauma, his wand arm was shaking badly, his legs oddly wobbly.

Suddenly dizzy, his thoughts latched on the small bundles of warmth in his mind, his heart. _Hermione… Morgana!_

His thoughts were jumbled, frantic and oddly detached, as he suddenly envisioned a world where he had _lost_. _What would become of his witch and his … daughter?_ Forcing himself to clear his mind, he closed off the pain, sealing it into a corner of his mind, to not let his panic nor his injury cloud his judgement. _He couldn’t lose!_

From beside him, Potter’s disembodied voice suddenly whispered: “Stay still, Professor, just a moment,” and a searing pain cut through the stump of his arm, making him yell hoarsely. 

There was an awful smell of seared meat, the stump of his arm smoking, and he knew, Potter had just saved his life. 

Panting, forcing the pain away, he stumbled to his knees, seeing Hermione advance on Kingsley, wands outstretched - _two wands - whenever had she gotten two wands? -_ firing spells at him from both hands, sending volley after volley of curses against her former ally, a barrage of magic directed right at Kingsley’s Shield. 

The man threw himself forward at her, just as she hit his Shield with a blunt _Expulso_ , shattering it into pieces, using the Dark Lord’s knowledge against the usurper, blasting the man’s Shield en with an exemplary use of the _Vir Mulier Scuto_ -theory. 

Kingsley was momentarily shocked, but Severus gritted his teeth, sending the bundled up pain and rage into the _Disintegration Curse_. 

The violent red light of the curse moved like a blur, hitting Kingsley squarely in the chest, and for a moment after the impact his form hung there, preserved in dust motes, before he burst apart, scattering in the draft coming through the fallen roof. 

The silence was abrupt, and as Severus raised his head, he couldn’t take in the devastation around him. The only thing he saw was Hermione, worry and happiness warring in her face as she sprinted towards him. 

Xxxx

The silence had lasted only seconds when a head poked inside. It was Lucius, and he yelled over his shoulder to the others: “Snape won, long live our new leader!

Severus came to, blinking, as he heard the rustling of robes and feet re-entering the Hall. 

_He had to get up. To show weakness to the Death Eaters would be paramount to death._

Groaning, he heaved himself to his feet, feeling strangely unbalanced, like there was something wrong with his weight balance, the loss of his arm making him imbalanced. almost toppling over, but Hermione was by his side, supporting him as he rose. 

“How are you,” she whispered, looking pale and drawn. 

“Not good,” he muttered, “but… I’ll live.” 

Forcing his Occlumency Shields back on, retreating into that strange blankness that had saved him hundreds of times in the presence of Voldemort and Dumbledore both, he gazed impassively on the throng now filing into his ancestral hall. 

The rafters were broken, splintered, moonlight filtering through in places, making the silvery light meld and blend with the red light of fluttering torches, but the light couldn’t touch the gaping holes to the dark cellars beneath. 

It was a sea of black robes and cowls, leather masks signifying the old lower levels and very few of the old, ornamented metal masks. The sight would have been terrifying to anyone, knowing that the people behind the masks were ruthless killers and sadists, but not to Severus. _They were his brethren. Those who knew what it was like to give in to darkness. Those who only bent for a power stronger than their own. Those who’d now bow to him._

Inside his chest, something like pride welled up, knowing that he now commanded the Death Eaters, standing in the Hall of his family. _His younger self would have been so proud of this achievement, seeing it as the fulfillment of a lifetime. Being the first among equals, commanding dark magic and the might of his brethren for his own pleasure and gain. Yes, right now, Severus Snape was the new Dark Lord._

_For a moment, he tottered on the brink of darkness, glorying in his victory, filled with a vision of how he could wield this power. If he stood by them, keeping the Death Eaters - what could he do with such power at his command? Surely, he’d do better than Voldemort. Surely, he could win. Ruling Britain, making everyone bow to him, his Lady by his side…_

Slowly, Hermione squeezed his arm, grounding him to life, to her. 

_If he did, there would be no Hermione Granger in his life. No warm, willing witch who loved him for all his faults and darkness - because this was a kind of darkness and injustice she’d never stomach. She wouldn’t want to be his dark lady, nevermind how much he would enjoy playing her Lord. He would have to force her._

_No matter that, he had won the game. Severus Snape had taken control, won, and now he had the opportunity to take the world like he and his brethren deserved, cashing in on a different kind of victory. He would always do what it took to keep his brethren safe. That’s what it meant to be a Slytherin._

Severus cleared his throat, and began his victory speech. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still lacking some answers? Oh, the next chapter will provide. *grins* 
> 
> I'll need the full week for editing, though the last chapter is already written. The thing is, posting the last chapter of a story always feel somewhat daunting. 
> 
> Did I miss plot points? Did I forget something important? Was everything resolved? You know, all those question I might ask myself... I hope you enjoyed the story so far!


	22. Love is Not a Victory March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still, a Slytherin never let anyone be on an equal footing. To be a Slytherin meant to be one step ahead, being ambitious enough to win, no matter what it took, while taking care of ones’ family and friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally...

“And that,” she whispered triumphantly, “is why it’s better to be a team than try to play solo. We won, doing it as a team!” 

He nodded, a small smirk on his face. “If you say so,” he said, deceptively mild, before letting Morgana crawl into her lap, the girl settling there with a disgruntled sigh. His regrown arm still ached, like the muscles were protesting being used, and holding a squirming two-year-old still was a daunting affair, even though St. Mungo's had done their very best. The award ceremony was just as dull as he had expected, speeches almost boring him to tears. 

_It had been almost too easy, really, setting up a grand revel for the Death Eaters to celebrate Severus as their new leader, having the Aurors swarming the place, bringing the lot of them to Azkaban. The Minister had been very amenable to his suggestion to administer the Kiss, given that the perpetrators had already infiltrated and compromised the Ministry plus orchestrated a mass-breakout from Azkaban twice._

_Minister Croaker had nodded, his eyes shadowed: “Yes, I believe you’re right, Professor. I can’t afford having people doubt the Ministry in this anymore. Decisive measures must be taken.”_

_The important thing, however, was those who_ **_weren’t_ ** _taken. His true brethren, Lucius and his select group of friends, weren’t present, of course. Their pact still held, and he had the loyalty of his own Inner Circle, his longtime allies. They’d keep quiet, obeying their new master, most of them already sent on missions abroad to make his plan real. The rest, the low level scum, the silly newcomers plus those who couldn’t be trusted were disposed of. The Dementors of Azkaban would be bloated for days._

With a sigh, he accepted that the ceremony was a necessity: the accolades, the speeches and the gawking audience, as the three Gryffindors and Severus were awarded a “Special Services Award,” given that they already held an Order of Merlin First Class. _The Slytherin in him enjoyed, even relished the honour, but the ritual trappings were … oh well._

Apparently, Morgana was bored too, and he couldn’t fault the girl. Restlessly, she fidgeted in Hermione’s lap until she suddenly stilled, a devious grin on her tiny face. Pressing her hands together, she stared hard at the official continuing his never-ending speech, until flames and smoke suddenly combusted at the hem of his cloak. Through their soul-bond he could feel the little girl’s overwhelming joy and boundless sense of achievement _\- “I can do it! I did it!” -_ as well as Hermione’s shock and mortification _. He supposed both his witch and his .. daughter … could feel his surprise and amusement in equal parts, as strong emotions tended to carry over through their bond._

With a shout, the official tried to stomp out the flames, his blue robes turning black, flakes of ashes drifting upwards as the flames ate the fabric, creating an acrid smoke. The fire seemed to be surprisingly vehement, licking up his legs like a hungry beast, until three Aurors stepped forward, dousing him with shouted “ _Aguamenti!”_ as thick jets of water sprouted from their wands.   
  
Wet and shaking, water dripping from his entire body, the ornate ceremonial robes blackened and burnt all the way to his thighs, the official profusely thanked the Aurors, before completing his speech in record time. 

Beside Severus, the tiny perpetrator was silently laughing, gleeful mirth on her adorable face, but Hermione whispered in her ear, gently scolding her for such horrid behaviour.

The crowd around them whispered, glancing around, while a few sniggered, but no one seemed to realize that a two-year-old had been the cause of the attempted arson. _Because really, that should be impossible, but not for HIS daughter._

Leaning in, Severus muttered in Hermione’s ear: “She must have learned that somewhere. I can’t even begin to imagine where. **_Who_ ** on **_earth_ ** would set **_fire_ **to someone else like that?” 

Her cheeks bright red with embarrassment, she glared at him, before indignantly whispering: “I most certainly didn’t teach her that!” 

Smirking at her, he quite enjoyed her discomfort. _So, she had never thought he’d find out, did she? To be frank, he had been somewhat impressed back then, because not many first years would have been able to do such a thing - or rather, would have had the guts to go through with it._

Luckily, it was time to receive the awards, or else this might have ended in a small row. 

Hermione smiled brightly to the cameras, showing off the medal, while he stared impassively at the photographers, Morgana on his arm, the little girl smiling winningly at the flashing cameras, twirling a curl around her finger like she was the most adorable - _not to mention innocent_ \- child ever. 

_This was the part of the ceremony that he secretly enjoyed, though he’d never admit to it openly. He supposed it was due the Slytherin pride in him, seeing his ambitions fulfilled and his work praised. He certainly hadn’t had too much of that earlier in his life. Being lauded as a hero, with the prettiest and most powerful witch in Britain on his arm, showing everyone that she belonged to him. And his daughter - his great responsibility - the girl who’d get everything he could ever give her. He’d secure her future, and hopefully make sure she didn’t turn out_ **_too_ ** _dark._

After the ceremony, Morgana had been sent home to Hogwarts with Minerva and Euphemia, chattering happily to the older witches, making both of them smile. Severus suspected the girl had realized that she shouldn’t brag about setting fire to someone, or else the two witches wouldn’t have looked quite that happy. _Or maybe Morgana had entwined them around her little finger to the degree that they would accept even that._

Snorting softly, he squeezed Hermione’s arm, saying softly in her ear: “Go mingle. There are people here that you should connect to, expanding your network. Show them who’s Britain’s next star in Arithmancy.” 

She gave him a small smile, and slipped away in the throng, his eyes following her as she steered straight to a group of renowned scientists and researchers, Septima talking animatedly in the middle of the group, welcoming Hermione in their midst by a long-lasting hug. 

Weasley had glanced at them, an odd expression on his face as he saw Hermione’s happiness. Slouching, like he was reluctant, he came over to Severus, saying quietly: “I can see she’s happy with you. She never was with me, you know.” 

Arching an eyebrow, he said: “I know, Weasley. Trust me, I _know_.” 

The young man reddened, but to his credit, he took the insult in his stride, saying: “Congrats, then. Keep on making her happy.” Then he grinned cheekily. “Though I’m not sure you deserve _her_ , Professor.” 

Severus sipped his champagne, looking at Hermione eagerly talking with the leader of the Arithmancer’s Guild. 

“You’re right, Weasley, I don’t. However, I _am_ going to make her happy.” 

Young Weasley snorted, before excusing himself, prowling after a pretty witch sashaying past them, her eyelashes fluttering as she saw the tall redhead going straight for her. His fiancee sat at their table, glaring at his back, slowly petting the tiny bump of her stomach. 

Lucius came over, tipping his head at him. “Decent fellow, that Weasley boy. We should recruit him. He’d be good for business.” 

Severus shook his head. “Too goody-two-shoes. Too much of a Gryffindor.” 

His friend smirked. “Oh, he seems like he has the right instincts and not too many moral restraints. Look at him, not even blinking as he shames his fiancee, though I daresay he knows he shouldn’t.”

Glancing around, Severus spotted Molly Weasley’s face grow redder, before she kicked her chair back, marching out on the dance floor to haul her wayward son back to his fiancee. 

Lowering his voice, Lucius said: “I’ve got news from our - friend - in France. The deal has gone through, and we’re setting up shop in Vannes.” 

“Wonderful,” he responded, preoccupied by watching his own little witch laughing. “I’ll transfer the recipes, if our … contact … can vet the applicants. First and foremost, we want to provide quality when building our reputation. The news from Italy are promising too, and we’ll be able to import as soon as the factory is in working order.” 

Lucius sighed. “It’ll be good to get a … refund ... on the expenses. No matter what one says about the Dark Lord, he was an expensive house guest.” 

Severus couldn’t help snorting. “Or parasitic, leeching on our resources. We need to replenish, securing both our reputation and our finances. Vannes is nothing but the first step on the ladder.” 

“To D.E. Industries,” Lucius said, clinking his glass to Severus’. 

“D.E. Industries,” he responded gravely. “May we prosper.” 

Both men turned quiet, as rapid steps approached. “Severus!” his witch said, grinning widely. “I’ve got my first article accepted to the Arithmancer Today! Remmandero, the leader of the Guild just told me!” 

“Congratulations, my dear,” he said, giving her a smile. Someone in the crowd pointed at him, gawking, and belatedly, he remembered to put his stern, blank expression back on. _She made it easy to forget he was in public. Soon, he’d be acting like the besotted fool he was, if he didn't pay attention._

“I’m so happy,” she said, snuggling into the crook of his arm, beaming, making his heart expand. 

“I’ll leave the two of you lovebirds to it,” Lucius said with a leering smirk. “By the way, Narcissa says hi, and cordially invites both of you to dinner on Sunday.” 

Beside him, he felt Hermione pause, but he didn’t miss a beat. “Tell Narcissa we’ll be happy to be there.” 

Lucius retreated, still with that obnoxious grin, silver robe flaring around him as he moved. 

“I don’t like their house,” Hermione said plaintively, looking up at him. 

“I know,” he said, pulling her closer. “But it’s just a house. Nothing can harm you while I’m there. Remember, Narcissa is Morgana’s aunt.” 

With a deep sigh, she said braving a small smile, though it wavered: “I know. Besides… Oh well, it’s like getting back in the saddle, isn’t it? Face my fears?” 

“My brave girl,” he whispered into her hair. “You’re doing so well, my darling.”

Then he couldn’t help himself, public attention be damned. _She looked so good, the crowning glory to his victory._ Putting a heavy hand to the small of her back, he steered her towards the corner. 

“Where are we going?” she asked, looking curiously at him. 

“We’re going somewhere … _private_ ,” he muttered. 

Her eyes became round, before they glittered mischievously. 

“In the antechamber?” she said, voice low. “Where we waited before the award ceremony? Oh, that’s … naughty, isn’t it?” 

They slipped inside the small room, and he warded it to the nines, before pushing her into the wall. The sounds from the reception were still loud, people chattering, glasses clinking and music playing in the background. _Taking her here, with only a wall between them and hundreds of people was … arousing._ Severus was already hard, his cock straining against his trousers, ready to ravage his witch. 

“This will be quick,” he muttered, kissing her hungrily, nibbling on her bottom lip. 

With a small gasp, she nodded. “Quick,” she repeated, hooking a leg around his hip. 

With a grunt, he hiked up her dress with his weak arm, before hefting her up to his hip, putting her weight on his good arm, one hand gripping her arse. She slung her legs around his waist, leaning back against the wall, her eyes big, dark and filled with a mischievous desire that made his cock throb insistently. 

Freeing himself by magically opening his trousers, he pushed her knickers aside, before positioning himself. 

Her mouth opened with a gasp, like he pushed the air out of her lungs, as he thrust inside that warm, wet heat, stretching her out, impaling her onto him. 

“You’re so ready for me, witchling,” he mumbled, feeling almost feverish, his hips setting their own pace, a furious, quick rhythm. _This wasn’t the time for gentleness, there would be no easing her into the stretch of his cock this time._

“I am, Severus, I am,” she whined, one of her own hands snaking down to touch herself between their bodies. 

Eyes locking, he felt like drowning in her, his cock drenched by her wetness, his soul warmed by her love, and he thrust like he tried to forget himself, to be one with her, to lose all he was into this tight warmth that was all her. She rubbed herself faster with uneven gasps, before she trembled, convulsing around him, her mouth opening, like she wanted to scream. 

Leaning in to kiss her, he let himself devour her, letting the torrent of her orgasm rush him along, his spine tingling with heat, before he erupted into her, marking her with his seed, filling her up through great spasms of bliss. 

“Oh,” he said weakly, coming down from his high, still deep inside her, her tight walls spasming around his still pulsing cock. “Oh, I…” _It was difficult to say the words, because they seemed to pale against his true emotions, but in the end, there were no other words:_ “I love you so much. I’ll do anything for you, my sweet. Please, be mine forever, will you? Stay with me, don’t leave me, ever.” 

Hermione smiled up at him, eyes bright and filled with love, whispering: “Yes. Forever, you and me.” 

He kissed her, now gentle and soft, still lodged inside her, and in the end, he rested his brow against hers, closing his eyes to the blessed afterglow. 

_He’d give her anything - everything. To be with her was, after all, the greatest victory of all. Though… He liked his little games, still. No matter what, he really didn’t deserve her, but he would never let her go._

Severus wondered how long he’d manage to keep the D.E. Industries a secret from her. _Not for long, he suspected. She was far too smart, and he was sure, she’d set terms as to what he could do with the money. No dubious investments._

Still, a Slytherin never let anyone be on an equal footing. To be a Slytherin meant to be one step ahead, being ambitious enough to win, no matter what it took, while taking care of ones’ family and friends. _That’s where the Dark Lord had failed, because his plans only took care of himself, not anyone else. His Lord had failed to see that his Death Eaters wanted to prosper, gaining the respect of the society while cunningly subverting it from within, securing the freedom to pursue the Dark Arts, seeking magical power and knowledge. And he had failed to see that love could be a path to victory, albeit an unpredictable one. Severus would do better than that._

Hermione sighed, resting her head against his chest, nuzzling into the cloth of his robes. Her limbs relaxing, she grew heavier in his arms, but still he held her up, his cock slowly softening inside her as his seed oozed out of her. 

Kissing her hair again, he felt so very content. He’d never tell her about how he tottered on the brink of darkness. How close it had been, always. Even until the end. _Even … now._

_He could do anything now. With their financial plan rolling, as a respected member of the society, soon to be Headmaster of Hogwart again and with Hermione Granger at his side - oh yes, he’d be heading the Wizengamot soon, changing the laws, pardoning his brethren, making sure it was legal to pursue the Dark Arts. Morgana would have a world fit for her to live in, where she could be a respected member of the society, not shunned for her immense power, a world where she could pursue knowledge without stepping outside the law._

_That’s what he had always wanted - more knowledge and to be respected - to be **someone**. That’s why he had become a Death Eater in the first place, to transcend the boundaries of magic and to be something more than a poor Half-blood from a mill town. And now, it would be all the better for it, sharing his life with a witch whose thirst for knowledge was equal to his own and a daughter who’d have every opportunity to win the world. They would both be safe, and he’d take so good care of them. Because first and foremost, he was a protector. And now, he had a family of his own. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, it’s finished, two years after I put it on hiatus on FFnet. It feels strange, because I’m not only feeling happy about posting the last chapter to a fic, but also because I’ve finally cleared my conscience. I don’t like leaving things unfinished. 
> 
> So, I wrote this story because I wanted a truly grey Severus. Someone who’s not entirely dark, but certainly not light, driven, but not only selfishly. This is also the story where I’ve struggled the most during the writing process. It may be because it’s hard to pick up something after a long time, because some of the initial drive is lost by the pause. When I first started writing it, the ending wasn’t clear to me. It might have been different if I had finished it back then. 
> 
> Still, I had fun writing, as always. I hope you enjoyed the story, and thank you for reading!


End file.
